Doppelgänger
by McRose
Summary: The Epilogue! The End! Harm and Jimmy. ALLIES OR ADVERSARIES? The first JAG & Close to Harm combination fan fiction story. What happened when the veteran prosecutor with political ambitions and the renowned Naval officer met?
1. Prologue

Doppelgänger

"A ghostly double of a living person, especially one that haunts its own fleshly counterpart" (The American Heritage Dictionary)

Disclaimer: Neither one of us owns the characters from either "JAG" or "Close to Home." We're just playing with them for pure fun's sake!! We promise to return all characters relatively "unharmed" (pun intended!!).

A/N 1: Sorry, not the long awaited sequel to Second Wind, but a crossover story between "JAG" and "Close to Home."

A/N 2: Since Patty Duke and Hayley Mills each played herself and her "twin," we see no reason why David James Elliott can't be both Harmon Rabb and James Conlon! After all, we know of no actor better suited to both roles (smirk)!

A/N 3: WARNING! This is primarily a Harm and Jimmy and Harm and Mac story. However, co-author highplainswoman considers LT Vukovic salvageable (gasp – we're ducking – we're taking cover!) and co-author janlaw agreed to write it, despite her total disdain for LT Sleaze's behavior at JAG. If you can't live with a Vuk with a new attitude, make a decision -- read or not – your choice. However, whines and outcries of rage will be ignored.

A/N 4: WARNING! The description of heinous crimes and another scene is somewhat shocking and gruesome. The faint-of-stomach may wish to skim quickly. We apologize, but in a major city, where crime – even violent crime – is an everyday occurrence, a crime must be very gruesome or gory or incredibly egregious to catch the media's and public's attention for the investigation and eventual trial to excite much notice long after the crime occurred.

A/N 5: indicates the passage of a short period of time on the same day

With grateful thanks and appreciation for your help, Colie, Mimi, Mkim, annamae and can j.

PROLOGUE

Friday, September 22, 2006/mid-evening

News Studio

K-IND (Indianapolis)

(TV screens all over Indianapolis and the surrounding region go from the regular prime time programming - yet another in a long series of "lawyer shows" – this one focusing on two Midwestern prosecutors -- to): ….

"Breaking News….Breaking News …..Breaking News" - first scrolling along the bottom of the TV screen and then –flash – to the News Studio:

"We apologize for interrupting our regularly scheduled programming - and we WILL show "In Our Backyard" in its entirety – but we know that all Indianapolis -- indeed, the whole country, has waited for a break in the parking lot murder/carjacking story. For those viewers just joining us – on July 2nd, what police believe was the 14th in a series of mall carjackings escalated to murder/kidnapping. Madame Tatiania Olevenowski, the world renowned figure skater whose brilliant career was tragically cut short when she was the victim of an explosion designed to keep her from winning Olympic gold, was brutally dragged and run over – decapitated – her fingers wrenched from her hand -- when she held out the keys to the carjacker while trying to open the back door – trying to make the callous would-be thief understand that her ten year old daughter Rina was locked in the backseat."

"Despite an intensive search that consumed the entire summer and a $100,000 reward offered by the Olevenowski family, matched by the U.S. and World Figure Skating Federations, no trace of the family's silver Mercedes or Rina was found."

"This evening, Martin Porter and Ardis Geramo returned from five months touring in Alaska to their penthouse condo in the Chateau Alhambra to find a covered vehicle in one of their garage parking spots. When they complained to the Chateau's Security, guards were preparing to have the vehicle towed when they realized that under the dusty cover was the missing Olevenowski Mercedes."

"We go now to the Chateau's garage, where police, fire and medical examiner personnel have been gathering."

"…….This is Karlin St. Don, K-IND reporting …Garage Security had removed the cover when they received the complaint of an unknown vehicle in a reserved parking stall in the luxury condo tower's garage. The vehicle is clearly the missing Olevenowski Mercedes….Tatiania Olevenowski's mangled fingers – what appear to be their bones – are visible dangling from the rear door on the driver's side. As you can see, the police have cordoned the area, and, wearing booties and gloves, are conducting an inch by inch search of the visible portions of the parking stall and surrounding garage space while awaiting a Mercedes dealer with tools to open the vehicle. Lt Dani McKinnen, whose team has led the hunt since July for the vehicle and ten year old junior figure skating champion Rina Olevenowski, has arrived to take charge. A few minutes ago, she told me that no one questioned the vehicle's presence in the Porter/Geramo parking stall since they typically leave several vehicles in their four parking spaces 20 stories below their penthouse condo when they travel for months at a time. From this distance, the car's dark tinted windows hide any evidence and the tension is mounting: is the search for young Rina nearly over?"

"……we return to our regular programming while awaiting word from the medical examiner on a positive identification, but even at a distance, we saw long blond hair and the remains removed from the trunk appear to include the clothes Rina wore at her final practice session, coached by her mother despite her near-deafness suffered when a jealous rival engineered an explosion as Tatiania Olevenowski was on the verge of winning Olympic gold nearly 20 years ago. Karlin St. Don, K-IND reporting live from the Chateau Alhambra."

End Prologue


	2. Chapter 1

Doppelgänger - Chapter One

Warning: A few "bad" words.

A/N: As "Second Wind" ended, in November 2006, Harm, Mac, and their daughter Mackenzie O'Hara Rabb ('Mahara' – born May 2006 in London) arrived in San Diego. Mac is about to take command of the JLSO; Bud will be her XO. Harm will report to NCIS' Regional HQ, providing training on investigative techniques and legal issues to new agents and junior judge advocates. LT Vukovic transferred to the JLSO summer 2005. His behavior has been similar to what he exhibited at JAG HQ February – April 2005. He will be assigned TAD from the JLSO to NCIS for six months. He will either learn to investigate and try cases properly or he will be administratively separated from the Naval Service. In the as-yet-unwritten sequel to Second Wind, he takes Harm's tutelage to heart.

Thursday, March 22, 2007, 8 PM

District Attorney's Office

Indianapolis, IN

James "Jimmy" Conlon loved his new job – most of the time. Actually, nearly all of the time. But tonight, with an-almost-rock-solid-case disintegrating like a glass splintering into bits – his job was a major migraine-level headache. A really major headache. Over the past twelve trial days, Annabeth and Mo had methodically laid out the State's case in chief – carefully building the evidentiary structure – like a house under construction - for the jury to see, hear, taste and feel. The gruesome scenes of the last summer's carjacking/murder/kidnapping/rape and strangulation, the September parking garage scene – almost surreal as the missing vehicle was revealed under the car cover and horrified residents realized it had been there all summer, even as what seemed like every inch of the city, county and state were searched; the horror and anguish when the silver Mercedes' trunk was opened, the forensics, the methodical investigation, tying the evidence to the perp – Juice O'Malley – everything fit and the jury was buying it. This was an important high-profile case; the local, state and national media had been all over it. James Conlon wanted this one; he needed this one. As much as he wanted justice for Tatiania and Rina Olevenowski, as much as he wanted vindication for his team's painstaking preparation, he knew that the publicity from a win could propel him to the state office – and beyond - which he'd spent over twenty years preparing for.

The defense was weak and clearly floundering. Until – early this afternoon – the alibi witness: a clean cut Navy Petty Officer, calmly detailing a high school friendship with Juice O'Malley, keeping in touch sporadically, getting together while on leave to drink brews, shoot pool and play poker. His leave, he said, was from June 30th – July 5th. The crimes took place July 2nd. The jury could do the math.

FLASHBACK

The prosecution sat stunned into speechlessness. It was, Annabeth thought absently, a tableau worthy of a televised legal drama. The defense attorney was standing straight, bathed in the sunlight coming through the window as if to highlight the "rightness" of his particular cause, while the look of astonishment and shock on Mo's face probably reflected her own. You could, she thought, hear a pin drop in the courtroom.

"So, Petty Officer Morrison, it is your contention that my client, 'Juice' O'Malley, couldn't have been the carjacker/killer because you were with him at a poker game all that day and night?"

"Objection. Leading." The objection came automatically from Annabeth and Mo's mouths, almost in tandem.

"Just summarizing, your Honor," defense counsel tried not to gloat. 'Gotcha!'

His Honor leaned forward intently. "Re-phrase, counselor," he admonished.

Eventually permitted to answer, the young man in the witness chair, resplendent in his "crackerjacks," gulped audibly, refused to look at anybody, and nodded his head. He jumped, and then leaned forward to the microphone just as the judge leaned over to remind him he needed to verbalize his response. "Uh-h-h, yes, sir."

With a smug look, the defense counsel glanced at Annabeth and Mo and sat down with an almost off-hand remark to the air,

"No further questions, your honor. Your witness, counselors."

END OF FLASHBACK

Saved by …not the bell, but a juror's upset stomach. Juror No. 9 had thrown up his lunch all over the back of juror No. 3's long blond hair and cashmere blazer. A half hour recess turned into an hour, and finally the Honorable Thomas Leonard had recessed for the weekend, having previously advised counsel that he had a Friday appointment that could not be changed.

The good news: time to dig for evidence to rebut the alibi. The bad news: the jury would have 3 ½ days to ponder a military poster-perfect live alibi witness against 12 days' scientific and forensic evidence. Rushing from the courtroom, Annabeth and Mo pushed through the throng of reporters and huddled with the police detectives and Ed and Ray. They'd worked this case for months, lived this case, and were adamant - there'd been no hint, not a scintilla – of any alibi.

Dividing the calls to be made, the research to be done, the back-tracking necessary, the team had scattered. Rubbing his forehead, James decided to get going himself. What to make for supper? Trying to decide between fettuccine with shrimp sautéed in garlic or mussels marinara, the knock on his door failed to register.

"Mr. Conlon?" …More insistently, "Mr. Conlon?"

The lovely contralto finally intruding into his consciousness, James raised his throbbing head, "Yes? Everyone is gone, may I help……."

"Chi? Chi?" The face that had haunted his dreams for nearly twenty years stared back at his dazed face and anguished voice. "You're dead, I know you're dead, so I know it's not you…."

"Mr. Conlon." The woman's voice was firm, crisp. "LT Dani McKinnen, I.P.D. Detectives Shirley Thompson and Bruce Winters have been working with Ms. Chase and Ms. Scofield. We think we've got something."

Jimmy turned away, fighting the urge to cry, to scream. Of course this woman police lieutenant wasn't Chiara. Chi had been dead for nearly twenty years, killed two weeks before their law school graduation. Best friends since the day they'd met in 1L's Con Law class, they'd shared a study cubicle, class notes, a "bazillion" gallons of coffee, studied together, and most of all, shared their hopes and dreams. For Chi, the Navy was deep in her family's history. A Calitri had been in the Navy since it's founding, her grandfather had served as the Judge Advocate General, both her parents had been JAG Corps officers; she was determined to be the first female Judge Advocate General. Commissioned in the Law Student Program her first year in law school, Chi had always held back from anything beyond friendship. Planning a stint in public service followed by public office, Jimmy had never voiced his feelings for her, knowing they would go in separate directions after graduation. He just hadn't expected their parting to be by death. Chi had been killed instantly when she'd walked into a Java Bean for coffee at 4 am and interrupted a robbery by jittery meth-crazed teens who'd opened fire as the door opened. She'd been on her way to pick him up – Monday, Wednesday and Friday they swam 50 laps before meeting their co-ed basketball teammates for practice. He'd never swam a lap since that day.

"Lieutenant. Please excuse me. You ….you reminded me of someone…..just for a minute." Forcing himself to stand and greet the two detectives, he explained, "Annabeth and Mo just left. What do you have?"

"A lying scumbag Sailor is what we have." Dani and her team hadn't worked this case for eight months to see it lost on perjured testimony. "This lying sack of shit wasn't anywhere near Indianapolis the day Tatiania was murdered and Rina was kidnapped, raped and strangled. He was on his ship umpteen thousand miles away in the Persian Gulf!"

"And we know this because?"

End Chapter One


	3. Chapter 2

Doppelgänger Chapter Two.

Warning – A few "bad words."

Office of the District Attorney

Indianapolis, IN

Thursday evening, March 22, 2007

From Chapter One:

"A lying scumbag Sailor is what we have." Dani and her team hadn't worked this case for six plus months to see it lost on perjured testimony. "This lying sack of shit wasn't anywhere near Indianapolis the day Tatiania was murdered and Rina was kidnapped, raped and strangled. He was on his ship umpteen thousand miles away in the Persian Gulf!"

"And we know this because?"

Doppelgänger Chapter Two.

Detective Winter's smirk was positively evil. "I called the Navy – 'N C I S' - the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. First I called the local Navy Marine Corps Reserve Center here and was referred to NCIS Headquarters in Washington D.C. …Sheeeesh, some jerk 'Dinozzo,' 'Dinuzzo,' 'Di-I dunno' tried to tell me to send a letter citing some 'SECNAV Instruction'…I finally demanded his supervisor and then he quit the snotty attitude – referred me to NCIS in San Diego, California – said the ship is "homeported" there, whatever that means."

"So?" Jimmy was impatient for the punch line, not quite daring to hope that the case could be salvaged. The young Sailor's alibi testimony had been devastating.

"So, I got a Captain Harmon Rabb. He said the ship was deployed to the Persian Gulf for months before and months after the crimes were done!"

"That's not good enough – he might not have been on the ship. Maybe he was – what's it called – 'leave' or 'AWOL?'" James Conlon knew next to nothing about military law, the little he'd absorbed from Chiara years ago had been long forgotten.

Jimmy was leaning back in his chair, one knee folded as he anchored himself in place by putting a foot on the bottom file drawer—not exactly what the office furniture designers had in mind, but it worked for him—as he listened to the detectives and their Lt.

Detective Thompson picked up the story. "Captain Rabb said he'd call the lawyer on the ship and see what records they have – he promised to call back tonight. He's going to call Dani's cell." Her voice was hopeful. She'd lived this case for months. Her child was eight years old.

As if right on target - the Lt's cell phone rang. "Lt McKinnen." At least her voice wasn't anything like Chi's, Jimmy thought absently, trying to focus on the call, and not on her face.

"Just a minute, Captain, while I put you on the speaker." Balancing the phone on the edge of James' desk, she continued. "Thanks for calling back so quickly, Captain Rabb. We're with Indianapolis District Attorney James Conlon."

"Evening."

"Rabb here. I understand you want to know the whereabouts of a Petty Officer Timothy Morrison on July 2nd, 2006."

Conlon grunted. "It would be helpful, yes sir."

They heard the ruffling of papers. The discombobulated voice continued, a slight tinny tone across the airwaves. Jimmy winced inwardly—as good as technology was getting these days, he wondered if they would ever get rid of that grating sound. "Petty Officer Morrison deployed with the _USS John F. Kennedy_ – an aircraft carrier -- on January 25th, 2006. What was supposed to be a six months' cruise was extended because of the war. On July 2nd, Morrison was on the ship in the Persian Gulf." Was it Jimmy's imagination or did he hear a slight wistfulness in the voice. He leaned forward.

"Captain, would it be possible to get paperwork documenting his presence on the ship on the night of July 2nd??"

"We can provide ship's log entries regarding the deployment, daily muster reports – you'd call them 'attendance records' -- and more."

Jimmy kept his New York impatience in check. "Do you need a formal request from this office for those records or is our phone conversation enough for you, Captain? We're in day 12 of a carjacking, murder, kidnapping and rape case. Maybe you've heard of it? The Olevenowski's – mother and daughter? A world famous figure skater and her rising star 10 year old daughter?"

There was a very dry chuckle coming from the other end. "If it were up to me, your word would be enough. However, this is the government and there are regulations for everything. I'll give you a fax number – a fax on your letterhead will do fine." There was a pause. "Besides the records, we can do even better for you. The petty officer was assigned as the bailiff for CO's mast that day. Er-r-r …that's a non-judicial punishment proceeding -- a hearing -- in front of the commanding officer. The ship's JAG – that's 'Navy lawyer' to you – can testify as to his presence. Soooo….she'll bring the records and herself in person. When do you need her?"

"We're in recess 'til Monday." Four grins lit the room and the two detectives exchanged high-fives. Their case was back on track.

They again heard the rustling of papers over the phone. Captain Rabb continued, "I'll make arrangements for the ship's JAG to arrive in Indianapolis on Sunday, complete with paperwork. Between now and then, you fax me your request and we'll fax the information."

Jimmy hung up the phone with a sense of satisfaction. They were going to nail this bastard, along with that low-life scum, Juice O'Malley, who'd committed the crimes in the first place.

"Okay. I'll let Mo and Annabeth know. They can meet this Navy lawyer Sunday and go over everything. You guys want in?" James forced himself to look Lt McKinnen in the eye. It wasn't her fault she looked like she was Chi's twin.

A short time later.

Annabeth's house.

She was cute, really cute. Jimmy smiled at the snoozing toddler, who was starting to stir in the port-a-crib, blinking sleepy blue eyes at him, all blond hair and flowered pink pajamas. It'd been 17 years, but he had no memory, none, of watching Jessie sleep like this, or ever picking her up from her crib. Seventeen years ago he'd been consumed with the need to start making his mark in the Manhattan D.A.'s office, punching the tickets as he rotated through the divisions with the other newbie prosecutors. Jimmy sighed. He'd cared about his ex-wife, he really had, and he'd been faithful, but he knew now that he'd married her for all the wrong reasons, and few, if any, of the right ones. Reeling from Chi's death, he'd felt the need for stability, for a home and family. And, he hadn't been totally upfront with his bride about his long-term ambitions. Water under the bridge now, he mused, but he also hadn't realized – hadn't known – what he'd missed.

He'd left voicemail for Mo, gotten hold of Ed and Ray with the good news, but kept getting a busy signal at Annabeth's, so he decided to stop on his way home with the information Captain Rabb had provided.

Files spread out all over the table and floor, Annabeth had been reviewing every statement, every detail. Thrilled with the information – 'Gotcha, Juice' – she volunteered to get the required request letter out to San Diego from her home fax.

"I think she's waking up, shall I get her?" Jimmy hadn't been around a little kid in years but for some reason, he really wanted to pick this one up and hold her close …just for a moment.

Concentrating on the letter, Annabeth nearly forgot to warn her boss. "Amalia – my nanny – said she was fussy all afternoon; finally dozed off with some baby Tylenol – she may be a bit upset or coming down with something …be careful she doesn't …."

Toooo late. Chuckling at the little arms waving and hearing a mumbled "Up! Up!" Jimmy swooped little uh-oh 'what'shername' up – realizing he'd forgotten her name – only to have a day's worth – it seemed like a river – of juice, milk, bananas and applesauce spew out onto his front. Eewww …

Finally hearing both him and her suddenly crying daughter, Annabeth was mortified. "I am so-o-o-o sorry," she gasped. …"Let me have her … Oh sweetie, don't you feel good, does your tummy hurt?" Annabeth crooned to the child, while frantically motioning Jimmy to take off his dripping jacket and shirt.

"I am so sorry …Hailey's hardly ever sick."

"Hey, not your fault, she couldn't help it," Jimmy tried to reassure. "Can I get you a wet cloth or anything?"

"Yes, please, in the kitchen. And, leave your jacket and shirt there – I'll sponge them off and put them in a plastic bag to go to the cleaners." Still trying to soothe Hailey, Annabeth rocked her gently.

"Don't worry about the jacket – that's what cleaners are for." Hailey had dozed off again, undoubtedly feeling better with her stomach emptied. Jimmy had asked Annabeth to get his gym bag from his car and had shrugged into a sweatshirt as quickly as possible. He wasn't sure who was more embarrassed – him at being bare-chested in front of her or she about Hailey's having thrown up all over him!

"I'll fax the request letter to San Diego right now and drop your jacket and shirt at the cleaners on the way to the office. I insist." Annabeth was still mortified.

"Not necessary, but okay, if it'll make you happy."

End Chapter Two

A/N 1: The gist of the shirtless jimmy scene was created for mkim's contest, but not posted due to it's similarity to can j's vignette. Re-worked to fit this chapter, any remaining resemblance is with can j's kind permission./Janlaw.

A/N 2: The USS _John F. Kennedy_ is not homeported in San Diego and did not deploy as stated in this chapter. She was recently decommissioned after a final port visit to Boston.


	4. Chapter 3

Doppelgänger Chapter Three.

Courtroom

Indianapolis, IN

Monday, March 26, 2007

"So, you maintain you were in Indianapolis on July 2, 2006, the night the carjacking took place?" Annabeth's voice was soft, gentle, and defense counsel shifted uneasily in his chair. He knew her style. He knew she was about to pounce.

An eager—almost too eager—petty officer leaned forward once again. "Yes, ma'am."

Annabeth took another deep breath and then glanced at the document Mo had handed her. "Documentation from the Navy says that you were present on board the _USS_ _John F. Kennedy_, an aircraft carrier, at your duty station on the night in question. These documents were provided to us by the U.S. Navy, by Commander Tracy Manetti, the Staff Judge Advocate on your ship. Do you know who CDR Manetti is?"

"Uh …yes, Ma'am, I know who she is."

"Petty Officer Morrison, I have a copy of the ship's log showing that the carrier got underway for the Persian Gulf on January 25, 2006, and that the ship returned to San Diego September 7, 2006. Is that information correct?

"Yes, Ma'am." Relaxing slightly at the easy, innocuous question, Petty Officer Morrison answered promptly.

"Petty Officer Morrison, is a muster report a document that shows who was present and who was absent in each division – work center – on the ship each day?"

Again, Morrison answered readily, "Yes, Ma'am."

"Now, is 'Captain's Mast' a non-judicial punishment hearing – NJP - like a little mini-trial, to decide guilt or innocence of minor military charges – in front of the commanding officer?"

"Yes." The Petty Officer's response was a little tenser now, and he began fidgeting slightly in the witness chair. Juice's defense counsel leaned forward slightly, not 100 sure where Annabeth was going, but familiar enough with her style to not like it.

"Petty Officer, I have a certified copy of the muster report for July 2, 2006 that says you were onboard the ship that day, at sea, and more muster reports for the week before and the week after. They all say you were on the ship and the ship was at sea. Are the reports correct?"

"Uh…I dunno." Morrison shifted uneasily.

"Now, Petty Officer Morrison, this is a certified copy of a report of non-judicial punishment held on July 2, 2006. It says you were present, acting as the bailiff. Were you there?"

Morrison was silent, looking down at his lap.

"Petty Officer?" Annabeth was insistent. You have to answer the question."

In the face of his continued silence, Annabeth turned to address the judge, as defense counsel rose to object. "You Honor, CDR Manetti is present and can testify to the authenticity of the documents. In addition, she can testify to Petty Officer Morrison's presence at the NJP hearing on July 2, 2006, since she was there too!"

While the judge glanced over the specified documents, Annabeth's mind flashed back to the day before, when the Commander had shown up on her doorstep.

FLASHBACK

Annabeth looked up to see a slim, attractive, dark-haired Naval officer standing in front of her. Her uniform was quite different from the petty officer's, Annabeth noted. This must be the Commander Tracy Manetti who'd called Friday to introduce herself, get directions and arrange the time and place to meet. Annabeth had assured her someone would meet her at the airport. A soft-spoken voice, with a southern Virginia accent came forth from the body. Ed had driven out to the airport an hour ago to pick up their prize rebuttal witness. In anticipation of the visit from the Navy lawyer, Annabeth and Mo had agreed they would go over the documentation at the office, rather than at either's home.

"Ms. Chase? I understand you requested these documents?"

"Yes, thanks so much for coming! It's Commander Manetti?"

" Tracy." The Naval officer stuck out her hand by way of greeting with a handshake. Annabeth stood up and reached for the proffered hand.

"Commander Tracy Manetti, Navy JAG Corps, Staff Judge Advocate, _USS John__F. Kennedy_, at your service, ma'am." As Annabeth took the papers and introduced herself "Annabeth Chase, Annabeth," she absently remarked in her mind on the uncommon courtesy.

She glanced at the papers. The more she looked, the more confused she became. "What exactly are these papers, anyway?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't realize you might not know what they are." Going over each of the three sets of documents, Tracy carefully explained the significance of each.

The confusion on Annabeth's face cleared as she examined the documents. She couldn't help the lopsided grin that came to her face as she caught the implications of the documentation she'd been handed.

Juggling cans of coke and her files, Mo joined the two women. "How're we doing?" Mo tossed a wary and hopeful glance towards the Naval officer.

Annabeth waved the sheets triumphantly at Mo. "Mo, we've just got the proof from the Navy that Juice's so-called alibi is absolutely, positively 100 crap. Junk. Worthless. A complete fabrication." Annabeth savored every word. Her white teeth practically took over her face, her grin was so broad. "Thanks to Commander Manetti and her colleagues, 'Juicy' is gonna be pulp! I've gotta call Dani and the guys!"

END OF FLASHBACK

Completing his review of the documents, His Honor leaned slightly over the bench. "Young man, these papers look like they are in order." He glanced at the opposing counsel and then focused more directly at the prosecution's table. "Counselor, do you wish to call this—"and he glanced over at Annabeth, who read him perfectly—

"Commander Manetti, Your Honor", she supplied helpfully and tried to keep the smugness down to a modest level.

"…Commander Manetti to testify to the authenticity of these documents, or will defense counsel so stipulate, given that they bear a certificate of authenticity and a beribboned seal?"

The defense counsel sat down and shook his head. Juice started, leaned over and started clawing at his attorney, who just shook his head. Meanwhile, Annabeth turned back to her very captive witness. "Well, Petty Officer Morrison?? I'm waiting for an answer."

Much to her surprise, the young man started quaking and furtively glanced over at the defendant. Then he looked abruptly away. "I don't know—I don't know what to say," he fumbled. Annabeth walked back to her table and picked up more documents, waving them in the air as she walked back to within a respectable distance of the witness stand.

"In addition," and she glanced at the defense counsel, "we can produce documentation the Navy suspects the petty officer's enlistment was fraudulent under the UCMJ – the Uniform Code of Military Justice." She nodded her head towards her opposing counsel. "We'll make sure defense counsel gets copies of these documents—these just got to our office yesterday afternoon—and we are not sure that fraudulent enlistment is a crime under civilian jurisdiction here in Indiana. It's our understanding the Navy is looking into the matter." She turned to the petty officer. "I'm still waiting for a reasonable answer."

The young man stared at her in bewilderment and frustration. "What will happen to me?" She personally thought his whine wasn't the least bit appealing.

"I guess that's up to the Navy and its attorneys. But you still haven't answered the question."

"Objection, Your Honor!" Counsel for the defense had _finally_ gathered his wits. "Any discussion of possible military charges is prejudicial and inflammatory!

Waving Annabeth back, "The jury is instructed to disregard any mention of military crimes, fraudulent enlistment, or the UCMJ." The judge pronounced each term carefully, smiling very slightly. "Continue, counsel."

"I don't remember the question." Morrison was definitely shaken.

"Were you present on your ship, at sea in the Persian Gulf, at an NJP hearing as the bailiff on July 2, 2006?" Annabeth patiently repeated the question.

The young man glanced down at his hands, which were wringing themselves into a tight flesh-colored "wad." Then the outburst started. "Juice was sorta a 'friend', more my cousin's friend, a neighbor when I was growing up here. I was at my sister's last week, home on leave —" he turned to the judge—"We were getting ready to deploy over to the Persian Gulf—the Iranian thing, you know—and our CO gave a lot of us leave to go home before deployment." He looked down again. "Juice came over and told me since he knew I'd used my dead cousin's name and social security number to enlist, either I would tell the police I was with him on July 2nd last year playing poker and pool or he'd tell the Navy I wasn't who I said I was, at least as far as the name and social security numbers on my enlistment papers were concerned."

Annabeth stepped back for a minute, rapidly sorting through all of this information. She turned back towards her table to place the documents back down and then faced the judge. "Your honor, we move that this witness's testimony be stricken in its entirety and the jury instructed to disregard, since it's so obviously perjured."

The judge didn't even wait for the defense to jump to his feet to protest. In a firm, and projecting voice that would brook no opposition, he declared, "So ordered."

Annabeth continued. "The People also request this witness be held without bail until we investigate this matter completely."

"May I be heard, Your Honor?" Commander Tracy Manetti rose to her full height. Her striking appearance in her dark blue, almost black uniform with the three gold stripes on the sleeves and several rows of ribbons on her left breast had the courtroom sketch artists scrambling.

"Your Honor, Commander Tracy Manetti, Judge Advocate General's Corps, United States Navy. Petty Officer Morrison is currently an unauthorized absentee from his ship, since his leave expired at 11:59 pm Saturday. There is also a missing movement charge – these are crimes under the Uniform Code of Military Justice. The United States Navy requests that he be held until appropriate personnel arrive in Indianapolis from the Navy Personnel Command in Millington, TN to take custody and escort him back to San Diego."

"Your Honor!" James Conlon had quietly entered the courtroom in time to hear Morrison essentially confess to perjury and whatever crime the military called it about how he got in the Navy. "Your Honor," he repeated indignantly, "the State of Indiana has the greater interest…."

The judge's gavel came down once again. "Not now, Mr. Conlon. This is not the time for this argument. "He considered, and made his decision. Motioning to the court officers, "The witness is remanded to the Marion County Jail. I will hear argument as to jurisdiction on Thursday at 9:00 am. Commander, will you be representing the Navy?"

"No, Your Honor," Tracy's southern drawl sounded as regretful as she actually was. "I must return to San Diego immediately to fly out to the ship, which deployed today. However, another senior judge advocate will be here Thursday for the hearing, Your Honor."

"All right. Be sure counsel for the Navy files a notice of appearance with my clerk. If she – or he – whoever is coming – isn't admitted in Indiana, I want a certificate of good standing from the State of bar admittance." Looking up at the clock, "It's getting on to 4:30. Court will be in recess until 9:00 tomorrow morning."

As the courtroom cleared, Jimmy and Tracy approached Annabeth and Mo. "Counselors, it's been a pleasure. I'm sorry I can't stay for the jurisdictional fireworks, but someone will come from JAG Headquarters or from San Diego." Looking at Jimmy, Tracy smiled sweetly. "Mr. Conlon, Commander Tracy Manetti, Navy JAG Corps. The Navy is glad to have been of service."

As the three prosecutors walked out of the courtroom, relieved by Morrison's downfall as an alibi witness, and debating who would get to try him for perjury and whatever other charges could be brought, none realized that this particular journey on the road to justice was doomed to a number of different twists, some of which were going to be life-changing.

End Chapter Three.


	5. Chapter 4

Doppelgänger Chapter Four

Wednesday, March 28, 2007/8:30 am

Frontier Airlines Flight 420

Somewhere in the skies over mid-America

As commercial flights went, Harm decided, it was okay. If his biplane hadn't had an open cockpit, he would have been tempted to fly himself out—but that open cockpit combined with the thousands of miles between Indianapolis and San Diego had put the kibosh to that idea even before the idea could take flight. He had been booked in coach at the government rate, of course, —but had gladly "spent" some of his frequent flyer miles to upgrade to first class. When he had requested the upgrade, the clerk had looked up at him, smiled a very friendly smile, and made the upgrade. He thought he heard her say "legs," and, if he did, he would have agreed with her. At this point in his life, he didn't feel like cramming his long legs into space designed for people of more "average" height. He settled in after hanging his garment bag containing his Service Dress Blue uniform in the closet at the front of the plane and pulled out the sparse case file he, Mac, Tracy and Bud had hurriedly amassed – almost entirely newspaper articles off the internet - to review on his way to Indianapolis via Denver. When the flight attendant took drink orders, he considered a double bourbon—a rare treat, since out of consideration for Mac, they kept only a couple of bottles of wine at home—and that was primarily for guests, but shook his head and decided on a Bloody Mary with the airline's medium-mediocre breakfast. Now he was taking a break from his study of the case and savoring the "crunch" of the spicy drink and musing, all at the same time.

How in the world had he gotten "drafted" into making this trip as legal representative for the Navy, anyway? When he transferred from JAG HQ to Staff Judge Advocate for Naval Forces Europe, he'd known his days in the courtroom were over, for the most part. Sure, in his new NCIS billet, there was the occasional testimony in a case here and there, but very seldom did he work strictly as a litigator these days. When he did step into a courtroom, it was mostly to check on the progress of his protégées.

Tracy had sent him and Mac, as a courtesy, her report on the situation in Indianapolis, and, furthermore, had suggested to JAG HQ via her own chain of command, that either he or Mac fly east to represent the Navy. Her rationale was that her impression of the D.A. and his staff in Indianapolis was that they were "hell-bent"—her words to him in a conversation, not in her report—on going after Petty Officer Morrison with little regard for what the Navy would want and it would take a strong personality/attorney to stand up to them. He grimaced. Mac probably would be better at this sort of thing—but she and Bud were both tied up in court, sitting second chairs to their junior trial counsel in ongoing cases and General Cresswell had reported he didn't have anyone available on such short notice. Besides, NCIS would be doing any follow-on investigation, so the task logically fell to Harm. So here he was, sitting in a plane eastbound, separating him from his family. How did he feel about that??

On one hand, it would feel good to function as an attorney, to once again appear in court, in uniform. He missed it—just as he missed his occasional trips to aircraft carriers, but what he had waiting at home more than made up for the courtroom. That was the downside of this trip—it would take him away, albeit temporarily and for a very short time—from his family. For all the regrets he secretly had for not proposing to Mac sooner, he still couldn't comprehend just how other aviators who had families did it—off for six-month deployments (longer, in some cases, because of the ongoing war in Iraq), missing out on important "firsts" in the growth of the youngsters, etc. In his case, he was just glad it didn't happen very often.

Gazing at the Rockies far below as the pilot announced the beginning of the descent into Denver International Airport, Harm reflected on just how "glad" he was. Compared to his life almost exactly six months ago, he knew without a doubt that he had never been happier. Pulling his wallet from his pocket he smiled at the pictures. Two months shy of her first birthday, his beautiful, precocious daughter – the absolute image of her mother except for the Rabb eyes – was already walking and talking.

Mac – his "current" favorite picture – he rotated them – was of the two of them at the rail of Frank's 45 footer on a day fishing trip just off the coast. Her hair streaming back into the wind, the two of them were laughing with glee at the dolphins frolicking around the boat.

Mattie and Chloe – on horseback at the beach. You had to look carefully to see the straps holding Mattie in place in the saddle with its specially made "back." Mattie …his heart ached for his older daughter's anguish, almost always carefully hidden from her family. Her January surgery had been successful in that the chronic, debilitating pain was gone. But as they'd been warned, it hadn't been the miracle cure they'd hoped and prayed for. Though she – and they – still hadn't given up entirely, "walking" was with RGO's – reciprocating gait orthoses on both legs to help keep her feet flat and weight-bearing, and loftstrand crutches, but still with a stumbling, lop-sided gait. The orthopods and therapists held out little hope of further improvement. Mattie had acquiesced to going from five days a week physical therapy to three –the other two she swam laps in the school pool with the coach and swim team. Not only would it improve her upper body strength and tone, but in the water she was buoyant and "free" – no different than her classmates. She insisted she was starting to be able to "kick" – he hoped so. Sometime soon, with college looming, a decision would need to be made - wheelchair, motorized scooter, or continue with the braces and crutches, or use each of them for different activities. Ultimately, it would have to be Mattie's decision.

Chloe – who would have thought that the flighty kid caught hiding on top of the elevator at JAG HQ would have matured into a compassionate and thoughtful 18 year old. Mattie's "sister of the heart" since the day they'd met "on line," she too was everything he and Mac wanted their youngest daughter to become. First via email, and now in the six months they'd been sharing Trish and Frank's spacious guest suite, adapted to be fully accessible, the two girls – on the cusp of adulthood – had planned their future. With Frank's help, they'd applied for and received early admission to UCSD. They both planned to major in aeronautical engineering, and then, with Frank as a partner, they planned to buy or open a float plane business in Alaska's Inland Passageway. If Mattie couldn't pass an FAA physical by then, she'd be the business manager. To supplement their income, they planned to write adventure/romance novels and operate a photography studio, specializing in pet photography. For two young adults still in high school, their plans were surprisingly well-thought out.

Mac …even after two years, Harm sometimes woke up unsure if he'd been dreaming, until the warm body snuggled close to him made the reality real. He was so glad to be gone from London, from a billet he hadn't enjoyed, from a hectic life that had left no time for his wife and their precious miracle baby. On the eve of requesting retirement, a second chance – the winds of change – had given him and Mac the life they both wanted, in the place they both wanted to be.

Hearing the announcement requesting that "seats be returned to their upright position" in preparation for landing, he forced his mind back to the matter that had him traveling halfway across the country on less than two days' notice.

He decided he wanted to "get a feel" for the personnel in the DA's office for himself. It was an old habit of his—he would read the report of any given situation—and then go interview people. Mac often said—and this was true even before they were married—that he went "with his intuition," not any kind of "logic" she could (or at one time "would") recognize and so often, his instincts proved to be true. His instincts had more than once uncovered the complexities of a situation. Even after his "trip" to Paraguay, his instincts were still sharp—and this was never truer than in the case of CDR Kohler – that odd and unusual case of the officer "on the bridge."

Checking into his hotel, he took a quick shower. He was much more comfortable in uniform when conducting "business," so he went digging through his garment bag. Mac would have appreciated the fact that he was whistling as he worked on his tie—he was actually looking forward to some straight legal work for a change. Surveying himself in the mirror, he gave one final polish to the gold wings and left the hotel room, determined to make a good impression on the DA's staff and see what he could do to protect the Navy's interests.

Same day/5:00 pm

Indianapolis

Office of the District Attorney

The celebration over Juice O'Malley's conviction on all charges was winding down. The entire team had shared in the glory at the press conference, then met with the surviving family – Petr Zolokoff, the husband and father, Ekaterina and Vasily Olevenowski, the parents and grandparents, none of whom had missed a single trial session. Coming down off the post-conviction "high," it was acknowledged without words that it was too soon to focus on the sentencing hearing starting Monday. There'd be time for that Thursday and Friday, after the jurisdictional debate over who would try Petty Officer Morrison – the State or the Navy, was resolved.

The Chief of Police, who had mayoral aspirations, Lt Dani McKinnen and her team, and Ed and Ray had drifted off, understanding that only the law – not the facts – would be at issue the next day. Jimmy, Mo and Annabeth settled down to decide how to handle the hearing. They knew emotion wouldn't sway Judge Thomas Leonard.

Bouncing ideas for the oral argument off each other, they were startled when Conlon's receptionist/secretary "buzzed" him. Jimmy's eyebrows came together in a concentrated frown as he leaned over the intercom.

"Marylou, I thought I'd told you we didn't want to be disturbed."

"Yes, sir. I know." There was a pregnant pause. Then, "But you have a visitor—a Captain Harmon Rabb." Mo frowned - her voice sounded awfully odd.

Jimmy leaned back, taking his finger off the intercom button for just a second. "Now, what do you suppose he wants?" Answering his own question, "sizing up the opposition, no doubt. I thought the Navy was sending a lawyer. Judge Leonard won't let an investigator appear." Annabeth recognized the tone of irritation in his voice. He sighed, as Annabeth and Mo exchanged glances. Both were remembering CDR Manetti's parting comments. "Well, I suppose, since he's here, we might as well size him up too." He pressed the button. "Go ahead and send him in, Marylou." He leaned forward in his chair and stood up, fastening his suit jacket as he did so. Both women shifted in their seats to face the door.

Later, on reflection, Annabeth remembered the exact moment Captain Rabb walked through the door to Conlon's office. The two men stared at each other. Annabeth and her supervisor and friend glanced at each other. It was downright eerie—the similarities. Annabeth's critical mind took over, noting the differences.

Both were tall—it looked like they were the same height. The Navy Captain had a little more bulk to him—although she conceded the uniform might have made it seem so. His short-cropped hair showed the beginning of a few gray hairs peering through all that dark hair, while Conlon's hair was sleek, smooth, totally without any hint of gray, and a little longer. But otherwise, the two men might have been identical. She caught the glimpse of gold as the Captain raised his hand to introduce himself,

"Captain Harmon Rabb, Navy JAG Corps. I'm at NCIS San Diego. We spoke on the phone –"

Conlon matched his move and the two men shook hands by way of polite introduction.

"Jimmy Conlon, ADA—Indianapolis D.A.'s Office." He motioned to the chairs in front of his desk. "Please—have a seat." He introduced the two prosecutors also in the room. As they sat, Annabeth unconsciously noted the very masculine way the Captain seated himself, as though that particular chair was his. She sighed inwardly. Definitely alpha male. She glanced at Mo and, as though in instant communication, Mo's eyebrows shot up, as if they had the same thought. She thought, "This could be interesting. And—damn it! Why did men in general think they had to own 'everything'?" That thought brought a fresh, albeit, short wave of grief as she remembered her husband who was so not "alpha male."

Jimmy was honestly slightly confused. He'd understood from CDR Manetti that a senior judge advocate would come to Indianapolis to represent the Navy. He'd missed Harm's mention of "JAG Corps" as he'd introduced himself, and so wondered again, why the Navy had sent an NCIS agent. Leaning back in his chair he stared at the other man. "So, what brings you in from the west coast, Captain?"

He held his cover in his hands, twisting it unconsciously as he spoke. "You've got one of our Sailors. We want him back."

Jimmy snorted. "Not a problem, Captain ….AFTER I prosecute him for perjury and obstruction of justice!" He leaned forward, a move that had intimidated smaller, lesser men. It never occurred to him the movement wouldn't work on a man of equal size. "Until then — he's not going anywhere."

Annabeth was fascinated by the dynamics between the two men. She'd been a prosecutor long enough to read body language fairly accurately, and, if she were correct, this "meeting" was heading for a clash, a confrontation, between the two men.

Jimmy shook his head and said it again. "He's not going anywhere--not until the State of Indiana gets done with him." A malicious smile came to his face. "Then it might be some time before the Navy gets him back."

Annabeth saw the jaw muscles in the Captain's face tighten and she felt a cold shiver march up and down her backbone.

"Oh, come on!" The Captain matched Jimmy's move forward. "You've got your conviction – which you might not have gotten without the Navy's help, let me remind you!." A hard look took its place on his face. "Don't give me that"—and he glanced at the two women—Annabeth had the impression he was holding back his language out of deference to her and Mo "crap about how important it is to the State of Indiana. You know very well that after Juice is sentenced, the press and TV'll have little or no further interest in Petty Officer Timothy Morrison. I know"—and a certain smug look came over that handsome face as he turned to stare at Annabeth and Mo—"you two thought you had your case in the bag - and then Morrison showed up and blew it all to hell. It was the 'Navy to the rescue' that salvaged your case and got you your conviction!"

Jimmy's jaw tightened in return. Annabeth had the weird sensation of watching mirror images. She glanced at Mo and the silent communication between the two women confirmed each other's private opinion—this was too surreal to be believed unless you lived it! "Captain, you're NCIS, not an attorney. And I know investigators have to be trained in certain aspects of the law, but we'll see what happens in court tomorrow. By the way, is the Navy sending a lawyer?"

The other man straightened up and Annabeth swore she saw him grow a couple of inches taller as a superior attitude settled on his shoulders. A tight feral grin graced his handsome face.

"Oh, did I forget to tell you I'm the Navy lawyer??" From his briefcase, he pulled documents and held them out with a flourish. "Copies for you – my Notice of Appearance and Certificates of Good Standing from D.C., Virginia, and Pennsylvania." Then, and only then, he leaned forward, matching Jimmy's height and facial expression. "We'll see who gets to try Morrison—and especially if I can run humvees through the holes in your arguments."

Jimmy felt his stubborn streak kick in. "Fine. We'll see you in court, then."

"Tomorrow." Rabb nodded shortly at Annabeth and Mo and left without another glance.

"Get Ed and Ray—I want to know just what kind of lawyer we're going to be dealing with here." From the moment CDR Manetti had spoken up in the courtroom, putting him on the defensive, Jimmy hadn't had a good feeling about this twist in the saga of what had happened to Tatiania and Rina Olevenowski.

Harm stood on the steps of the gleaming, glass-encased building, momentarily uncertain what to do next. The sun was shinning brightly, toasting him in his "dress blues," reminding him of the mugginess of Washington D.C. springs in the past. He had forgotten just exactly how nice the weather was in San Diego. Deciding he looked rather strange standing there in the way of oncoming pedestrian traffic in this mid-western town where military uniforms were in scarce supply, he moved off the steps down to the sidewalk where his rental car was waiting. After settling in behind the driver's seat, he decided calling Mac was probably an appropriate step to take. He took out his cell phone and started punching in the speed dial to her office—and then stopped.

In the two years they'd been married, Harm had learned a great deal about himself, mostly good—but a bit not-so-good. Among other things Mac had "helped" him with was the notion—and she had mentioned it briefly in their little "stint" in Russia the first time—that he tended to "go off half cocked" before thinking through a "plan of action." There had been times when this tendency had gotten him into trouble during the marriage—and he shivered, as he remember bits and pieces of the marriage/divorce scenario his mind had envisioned at Jennifer's promotion dinner years ago—and he had sworn internally at the time, he would never let that happen if and when he and Mac could "get it right." Although being married to Mac had, for the most part, been pleasant and happy—mostly deliriously happy -- there had been moments that had been plenty painful and uncomfortable, made all the sharper in comparison to his most-of-the-time happiness and contentment. He decided after a moment in which he regained his emotional bearings, at least enough to make some saner, cooler judgments, to go get a cup of coffee and then, and only then, decide what to do about the next day's hearing.

Java Joe's Coffee Shop

Indianapolis

Same Day, a short time later

His cover lying next to the menu holder/salt/pepper/condiment containers next to the window, Harm's hands wrapped tightly around the hot cup of coffee. He, gazed out the window not really seeing the street scene, but instead, he was lost in thought.

There was no doubt meeting Conlon for the first time had thrown him off-stride. CDR Manetti, in her briefing with both Mac and himself, hadn't mentioned how much alike he and Conlon looked —although she had mentioned he was a tall man. He hadn't paid any attention to her statement. Looking at his real-life "twin" had unsettled him enough that he had immediately gone on the defensive. His lips twisted up in a half lop-sided grin of amusement. In his case, as Mac was fond of reminding him, "being on the defensive" often meant "going on the offensive;" the theory being a good defense was being very offensive—in all senses of the word! How many times had Mac either gently commented on this tendency of his—or caustically, usually in the middle of a disagreement/marital argument. Fortunately, in this case, as he sipped his coffee, no real damage had been done so far. What he needed to do was come up with a "plan of action" to rectify the situation and "make amends" for losing "it" without being very obvious about it. He had given another thought to calling Mac, but decided not to. This tendency had the nasty habit of coming up at the least opportune times in his marriage and he was making a real effort to tame said tendency; he really wanted to try to "fix" this without her assistance, if at all possible. She would have, no doubt, read him the "riot act" given the opportunity—and while the competitive side of him would have enjoyed that discussion, at least to some degree, the more mature side of him wanted to avoid that confrontation—especially given Mahara's – and often Mattie and Chloe's -- presence in the house. In any event, it was three hours earlier in San Diego – Mac was undoubtedly still in court. He'd left voicemail assuring her of his safe arrival while he'd waited for his rental car.

Just then, his cell phone rang. He pulled it out and wasn't really surprised to see that it was Mac calling_him_.

"Hey, sailor!" He thought her voice sounded cheerful, upbeat. "How goes it in the 'heartland'?"

He leaned back in the booth he had taken. "It's muggy as hell here!" Despite the ceiling fan moving lazily overhead, he could feel the sweat starting to form and go down the middle of his back, making his T-shirt cling to his back. He changed the subject quickly. "How're my girls? – Did you get home early?"

Her laugh sounded musical to his ears. "We're in recess until tomorrow. You wouldn't of believed Mahara this morning —she was toddling around dragging one of Mattie's crutches—and Mattie's exasperation level reached, I think, new heights!"

He grinned as he pictured the scene. "Let me guess—this happened at the most awkward time?"

"Yeah—Mattie needed to go back to her room just as it was time to leave the house!" He chuckled as he envisioned the resulting chaos. "So, flyboy. You didn't answer my question." He ruefully observed to himself he should have known better than to use his classic diversionary tactics on her. She had never been one to let him get away with that—at least in court, anyway.

"Well," he paused, to think just a bit before continuing. "Met with the DA today." There was a short significant pause.

"And?"

"He insists the State wants first whack at Morrison." Harm's aggravation was immediate.

Another pause and he could picture the wheels spinning in her mind. "You didn't get into a 'pissing contest' with him, did you?"

He squirmed. "Uh, yeah."

There was a sigh at the other end of the phone. "Well, what are you going to do?"

They continued to discuss the legal options he had available, the oral argument he'd present in court the next morning.

"Well, then, I guess you'd better go hit "Fed Law" on the internet – law library in a box, as Bud says."

"Yeah. Good thing Bud dragged me into the computer age -- I guess I know what I'll be doing for the next few hours."

"Cheer up", came the distant voice of the woman he loved. "It's legal research and it's been a bit since you've done much of that." How in the world, he wondered—not for the first time—did she know what the best "therapy" for him at the moment could have been? Then she added, "I don't know what else is going on, but it sounds like we need to talk about whatever it is."

"Just something startled me …when I get home…, yeah…love you! Tell the kids I said hi." As he put his cell phone back in his pocket, he mused about how close they were—how much closer they had gotten since they'd been married. There had been a time when he would have been terrified of that emotional closeness. There were still times when he struggled with it. But the rewards—the comfort of being there for each other, the sharing of the highs and lows of each day, the overwhelming joy of just knowing they were together forever —they all made up for the fright he sometimes felt. He gathered his cover and briefcase, paid for the coffee and headed back to his hotel to hit the "law library on the net" and prepare for the hearing.

Conlon residence

Indianapolis

Wednesday, March 28, 2007/10 pm

In his library/office/den surrounded by political mementos from the past (including the most prized item of them all, a personal letter written by then-Governor Nelson Rockefeller to his father acknowledging his father's contributions for some political/social activity of some sort), Jimmy worked on a scotch while staring into the small fire shedding light on an otherwise dark room. He had purposefully left the lights off when he lit the fire—something he did when he was profoundly disturbed and needed some time for reflection. Topic for this particular time period of reflection: Captain Harmon Rabb.

He had not been "grown-up" enough to understand and/or comprehend fully the turmoil of the '60s and early '70s. Having grown up in a political-alert home, however, he had caught the remnants of his parents' anguish over the Watergate scandal and how profoundly disturbed his folks were over Vietnam. One major change that had directly affected him: although he had to register for the draft when he turned 18, that had been purely paperwork—the military by that time had turned totally and completely voluntary—and therefore, a whole lot more professional, as a result. He had never been around military personnel for any length of time—Chiara being the exception, and even that had been in a really informal setting – she'd been in the Law Student Program and he'd only seen her in uniform a handful of times, if that. He had never given any thought, one way or the other, about the military—until the Iraq war began. And even then, he wasn't especially deeply concerned one way or the other. He respected the men and women who chose to make the military their own particular career path, but that was no more than the respect he had for other professions like the ministry or medicine and the like. In fact, it could be said, he was relatively ignorant—just like the majority of the country—of all things military, unless—and until—such crossed his path. He had never expected the military to cross his professional path after Chi's death.

And even then, he had not expected the crossing of paths to be so ...well….personal. When Captain Rabb had walked into his office this morning, it had been a direct shock for a couple of reasons: first, it was rare for him to meet someone he could look in the eye on a level basis. Secondly, when he did see the man's face, he had received a mental jolt—except for the length of hair—and a tiny graying around the other man's temples—he could have been looking in a mirror—up to and including the unique color of their eyes! It had been enough for him to lose his composure for a second or two, and then he'd resumed his confident professional persona and turned gracious host. Which had lasted all of five minutes or so until the Captain made it clear that the Navy's interest in pursuing Petty Officer Morrison on it's own hadn't changed from when CDR Manetti had addressed the Court on Monday.

He would have to ask his folks just where those eyes came from. What strange genetic quirk would have produced an identical "twin" of his, totally unrelated, so far as he knew? Stranger yet, what were the odds of the two of them ever meeting in this lifetime? Somewhere, in the back recesses of his mind, he was familiar enough with the expression that said that everybody on the planet has a "twin"—but he didn't know whether that meant everybody would meet their twin!

Furthermore, there was another really extremely ironic note to all of this: what were the chances that the hitherto unknown identical twin would have chosen the same profession as he—that they would both be lawyers?? It had registered somewhere in the recesses of his brain when Mo and Annabeth had reported the background of the Naval officer—that Captain Rabb hadn't always been an attorney and was, in fact, a highly decorated Naval aviator. What kind of man, Jimmy pondered, went from the high-action orientation of Naval aviation to the sometimes ..well…more routine, even occasionally mundane practice of law?? Well, not really mundane or routine, but certainly not the same as flying fighter jets!

The fire had died down some, and he got up from the loveseat placed in front of the fireplace to stir it up and add another log. At that point, Locki, his Maine Coon cat, rousted himself and started curling around Jimmy's legs. He bent down and, with a grunt, lifted the cat to his lap, where the feline promptly proceeded to curl a couple of times before settling in for a nap. "Locki, I swear you're gaining weight!" he muttered. His long fingers absently stroked the cat as he mused further on his reaction to meeting his "twin" in such an unexpected way.

Like most people totally unfamiliar with the military and its lifestyle, he had certain assumptions and/or ignorance. He hadn't been around military types, and specifically aviators, enough to make any judgments at all, but he wondered if all military aviators came across as arrogant, cocky, and self-assured as Captain Rabb had. He was mature enough, however, to recognize that whatever traits he saw in the other man and didn't like, those same traits probably existed in him, as well. He grimaced. That would explain the legal "dog fight" that had started within five minutes of his meeting the man.

He sighed.

It hadn't been so long ago that he'd been thrown off emotionally a little by the sudden, unexpected murder of his friend and mentor who'd come to talk to him about running for State Attorney General. Now this. The only time he could remember being this emotionally "off-balance" before in his life, at least since Chi's death, was going through his divorce—the move out of the New York City apartment he'd shared with his then-wife and daughter, trying to keep his career on track at the same time, adjusting to his new home location—man! He thought his life had turned into a real mess. Fortunately, he'd had the maturity to recognize that it was only short-term chaos and that everything would eventually settle down. Then, of course, there was his moving to Indianapolis—but that had been planned and carefully orchestrated to keep the disruption to a minimum. And he'd found a home here, both career-wise and personally; enough, anyway, to chase that political office he'd always wanted.

So, the question was, what to do about this—problem?

He finished off his scotch in one quick gulp and stared into the once-again dying fire. He knew he was an exceptionally good attorney, quick on his feet. He knew the statutes inside and out—as well as the necessary "network;" otherwise, he wouldn't have "maneuvered" his way into this position when it unexpectedly became vacant. Having heard a very brief summary of Rabb's legal career, he had no doubt the other man was equally good.

Furthermore, he knew who he was, what he was, and why he was where he was. In addition, the judges here knew him—and he thought maybe Judge Leonard wouldn't take lightly to the notion of an outsider coming in and stealing his thunder. Especially an overly-aggressive military man. The thought crossed his mind that maybe that was Rabb's weak point—could he survive outside the military with its structure and discipline? His eyes narrowed in concentration. Maybe, just maybe, that was something to be exploited. It wasn't much—but it was something. In addition, with Rabb in uniform—and given the divisiveness in the country, especially in his region, would that also provide a bias he could play into?

He shook his head. That was politics entering into a case where politics shouldn't have been. He wasn't sure he wanted to go that route—but he tucked it in the back of his mind to use, if need be. Then there was Judge Leonard's nature to be considered. The judge was no-nonsense and strictly "by the book." Unlike most of the judges in New York City, he had learned relatively quickly, these judges out here fell on the side of "strict constructionists" and Judge Leonard, especially, tended to narrowly construe the boundaries in which attorneys could flex their respective muscles—although even Judge Leonard could occasionally surprise him. Nope. He was better off sticking to the legal issues. He lifted the big cat, who protested with a loud "yeowl." "Come on, big guy. It's getting late. Let's go hit the sack." As he made his way upstairs to his bedroom, he thought, 'Maybe some inspiration will hit in the morning.' His pause for recollection had helped settle him down some. He reminded himself that he was who he was and no "living, breathing 'twin'" was going to change that. Resolving to keep it all in perspective, he went to bed feeling just a bit better about the whole situation.

End Chapter Four


	6. Chapter 5

Doppelgänger Chapter Five

Judge's Chambers  
Thursday, March 29, 2007

The Honorable Thomas Leonard rubbed his brow, absently wondering if it would help if he summoned his third grade teacher to deal with the D.A. and his Navy twin – really unbelievable, the two not only looked identical, but were identically contributing to his monumental headache. Might the Chief Judge authorize combat pay?

"Mister Conlon. Mister Rabb. Back to your corners, both of you. My turn." The Honorable had nearly had it, and it showed.

Harm and Jimmy spoke automatically and simultaneously. "My apologies, Your Honor." At least the voices were different, he could tell them apart by making them talk ….squash that thought!

"Let me summarize where I think we are. Then, you can agree on the best course of action, or we can go into my courtroom, I'll hear from both of you, and I'll announce my decision, all in open court, of course. The Press is out in force, I do believe."

Eyeing both attorneys sternly, he continued. "O'Malley commits crimes, eventually O'Malley is caught, and eventually – like yesterday – O'Malley is convicted. Carjacking, kidnapping, rape, and both murders. I've set the sentencing hearing to start next Monday. Those are the basic facts, right?"

Without waiting for a response, "Now, I certainly understand that the State is most unhappy that this Petty Officer Morrison nearly cost you your conviction with his fabricated alibi testimony, but the fact is, the Navy helped you out with information and a Navy lawyer to back it up. Ms. Chase then did her usual brutally brilliant job on cross-examination, turning Juice O'Malley into so much pulp. I doubt Tropicana will put him on their cartons." His Honor chuckled wryly at his attempt at humor.

"Not funny to you, gentlemen? Okay, listen up." The judge's tone sharpened. "Jimmy, you've got Sailor boy on perjury, maybe obstruction of justice. Mister Rabb -- what are you called?"

"Harm, Your Honor." Listening to the judge, Harm decided to play it straight, very straight, although "Captain Rabb" had nearly rolled off his tongue! Cringing slightly, he couldn't decide whether this judge reminded him more of RADM Chegwidden or RADM Morris!

"Harm. You tell me the Navy would charge the Sailor with perjury, obstruction of justice, unauthorized absence, missing movement – that better not be a potty joke, young man – and false official statements/fraudulent enlistment. Correct?"

"Yes, Your Honor. I haven't read the transcripts, of course, but from what CDR Manetti told me, only minimal investigation would be necessary –mainly determining Morrison's real name and social, etcetera.

"And what would be the maximum sentence possible if he's convicted of all that?" Judge Leonard was honestly interested now

"Mmmmm…I think 16 ½ years, Your Honor." Harm decided again to play it straight and continued, "I have to say, though, a pre-trial agreement for a lesser sentence in exchange for guilty pleas is likely in this type case."

"Jimmy?"

Conlon sighed. He'd always prided himself on knowing when to fight and when to cave. Rabb had gotten his New York dander up from the git-go, looking just like him, waltzing in and demanding his Sailor back!

"The People are prepared to cede jurisdiction, Your Honor" Turning to Harm, he shotgunned the questions. "What rights would Morrison have? Would he have a lawyer? Is there a jury? Is there a judge who's a lawyer?"

"Lots; yes, yes, and yes." Harm was terse. He knew very well that James Conlon could care less what rights O'Malley would have, and couldn't resist continuing "scholars who've compared the military justice system with the typical State criminal system conclude that accuseds – defendants – have greater rights in the military than in the civilian criminal systems." 'So there, Mr. D.A.!'

"Enough." His Honor warily eyed them both.

A short time later

On the Courthouse steps

The sun was shining brightly and it was one of those days where there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The reason there wasn't a cloud in the sky was apparent when a glance at the flagpole standing outside the courthouse showed the flags waving totally unfurled. The crowd of reporters and camera people standing in front of the podium clutched their respective coats a bit tighter and glances at each other exposed the common thought among the crowd—the authorities were going to have trouble keeping papers straight and from flying from hands if they were going to read prepared statements. There was a secret hope, too, that the authorities weren't going to be too long in the great outdoors—there was a "bite" to the wind that could chill a person to the bone if not bundled up to a considerable degree.

Just then, the courthouse doors opened and everyone looked up in eager anticipation. There were the "usual" suspects when it came to a press conference involving the prosecutor's office—Jimmy Conlon, Annabeth Chase and her supervisor, "Mo" Scofield as she was known throughout the community, the two staff investigators known to be the closest among the tight-knit "inner circle," and one addition to the crowd. It was the tall man wearing a Navy Captain's uniform who caught the crowd's attention. There was more than one sharp intake of breath when the facial features of the two men came into sharp focus—if it weren't for the hair style and clothing, the two men could have been identical twins!! There was a slight stirring among the press and a nervous titter from the crowd could be heard as that fact was absorbed. It was Jimmy who stepped up to the mike first.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen." He grinned a little, laid the papers he held in his hand down on the podium—and brought out a couple of glass paperweights to lay on the papers. There was a slight chuckle from the front-line people in response. The wind was tossing that dark hair about in circles, but Jimmy ignored it. "I won't keep you long—I know it's cold out here, despite appearances." A slight grin graced his handsome face and then he became serious and started reading from his prepared statement.

"Eight months ago, we lost two of our own here in Indianapolis. Tatiania Olevenowski was a world famous figure skater, coaching and mentoring tomorrow's star skaters, including her ten year old daughter, Rina."

"It wasn't their time to die, certainly not to be brutally murdered. Petr Zolokoff lost his beloved wife and daughter. Vasily and Ekaterina Olevenowski lost their only daughter and only grandchild. We share their grief and loss. The criminal involved was clever—it took months for the forensic and fiber evidence to lead to the murderer - 'Juice O'Malley'." He looked up and the reporters present could see the glint of grey, cold steel flashing in those green-blue eyes. He glanced down and began to read again. "As you know, we were in trial when a Petty Officer Morrison stepped forward and 'volunteered' the so-called 'alibi' that Juice couldn't have committed the crime since Juice was with him the night the crimes took place." He paused, took a sip of water from the glass someone—privately, Jimmy wondered if Annabeth had taken care of that little gesture—it would have so like her to be so thoughtful—had set under the podium, glanced around at the quiet and respectful crowd, and continued. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the Naval officer in their midst. The thought occurred to Jimmy that Captain Rabb looked very much out of place in Indianapolis—a long way from either coast. "Despite this Navy Sailor's perjured testimony, two of my finest, most tenacious prosecutors persevered and Juice O'Malley was convicted of all charges yesterday afternoon."

Jimmy paused, seemingly lost in thought. He bent his head a little and then tossed a look towards the Naval officer. "May I introduce Captain Harmon Rabb, Navy JAG Corps, from Naval Criminal Investigative Service, San Diego, California. He has traveled a long way to be with us today. The Navy has expressed a desire to prosecute Petty Officer Morrison for perjury, obstruction of justice, and several military crimes. After much consideration and discussion with Judge Leonard earlier today, this office has decided to yield to the Navy." He took another sip of water. It galled him, even at this point, to think he had lost on this issue and he was "making lemonade out of lemons" when he added the next point. "After much thought, I decided to save the taxpayers of Indianapolis and Indiana the expense of trying Petty Officer Morrison when the Navy has volunteered to do that task for us." He glanced over to the other tall man on the dais and leaned into the microphone. While he was politically ambitious, his instincts told him the Naval officer was not—and furthermore, was not totally comfortable in front of cameras, especially since the people behind the cameras were strangers to the officer—but not to him. It may have been petty, he admitted to himself, but, having lost the "war," he would dig when he could—even if the digs were extremely petty in nature. "Captain, do you have anything to add?"

The glance he received told him in spades Rabb knew what he had done and what he was up to—nevertheless, he would "play the game." He stepped forward. "I have nothing to add—except the Navy will make sure its Sailor receives a fair trial and, if convicted, an appropriate sentence." Harm stepped back from the microphone with a tight grim smile tossed Conlon's way as if to say, "So there!! Take that, you bastard!" In the privacy of his own mind, a flashback to the little confrontation between Mic Brumby and himself so many years ago as Mac was being charged with killing her husband flitted through his mind. A little twinge of guilt slithered through his consciousness—Mac hadn't liked the alpha-male thing then, and he seriously doubted she would like it any better now.

Ignorant of the little byplay going on in the Captain's mind, Conlon stepped forward. "We'll take any questions you may have." He stepped back, fully confident of his own ability to "handle" the press and looking forward to seeing how much, if at all, the Captain would squirm.

Among the many hands raised, Jimmy pointed towards a red-haired petite middle-aged reporter. "Yeah, Jenny?"

"Mr. Conlon, what sentence do you expect Juice O'Malley to get? And what will happen to Petty Officer Morrison?"

Jimmy stepped up to the microphone. "Jenny, that's two questions, not one." The frown was false, and all of the reporters present knew it—a few in the front of the crowd snickered. Jimmy continued. "Obviously, the so-called alibi proved to be phony, and Juice was convicted. The sentencing hearing starts Monday. The prosecution will seek the maximum sentence."

"A follow-up, please. What will happen to the sailor??' Jimmy waved his hand towards Harm, who stepped forward and leaned, much in the same way Conlon himself had, to answer the question.

"He will remain in the Marion County Jail until escorts from the Navy Personnel Command arrive to return him to San Diego. A decision will be made whether to put him in pre-trial confinement in the Brig at Marine Corps Air Station Miramar." A tight, grim smile illustrated the Captain's handsome face. "My command – Naval Criminal Investigative Service - will complete the necessary investigation and he'll then be charged with violating the Uniform Code of Military Justice – the probable charges are perjury, obstruction of justice, UA – that's unauthorized absence - and missing movement."

"Uhhh… what's 'missing movement,' Captain?" The reporters tittered as Harm answered: "That's when your ship leaves the pier and you're not on it." Harm smiled tightly.

Conlon stepped forward. He added (with a "malicious thought a forehand"—he thought he would twist the knife a bit more in this little mini-war between him and the Navy lawyer), "My office has promised the Navy every courtesy and all the cooperation necessary to aid in their prosecution."

Annabeth thought she saw the handsome Captain flinch a little, but if she had, it had appeared just for an instant and was gone so suddenly, she wondered if she had seen it in the first place. Captain Rabb added, "The Navy also promises to keep the Indianapolis D.A.'s Office fully informed of all proceedings involved in this matter." She and Mo exchanged glances—the Navy Captain was certainly quick on his feet and apparently no novice in discerning inter-office politics and rivalries.

A tall, young, strawberry-blond reporter had caught Harm's eye and he pointed to her. "Yes?"

"Are you guys related or something? I mean—you guys look like identical twins!"

The Captain shook his head, firmly in control of his facial expression. Conlon had no way of knowing the inner turmoil roiling in the other man's mind. "So far as I know, no, we're not. My family comes from Pennsylvania and California." For the first time since meeting Conlon, he tossed a smile of commiseration towards Conlon. "I don't know his background or where he hails from – Id never met Mr. Conlon until yesterday."

Conlon stepped in. "Folks, it's getting cold out—I'm calling a halt to these proceedings. If you have any more questions, my office will be glad to answer them for you." He nodded towards Harm. "Captain? If you would be so good as to follow me. . ." and he stepped away from the platform, turned, and walked purposefully and with deliberate speed towards the glass doors of the prosecutor's offices. He had forgotten the Captain had the legs to match his stride which, Harm noted, had the delightful (from his perspective, anyway) effect of Conlon discovering he had left his younger and shorter female colleagues in his wake—but not him. Childish though it may have been, Harm couldn't help the tiny little snicker bubbling up from within the deep recesses of his chest.

Score: Navy two. D.A.: zero. Game, set and match!

End Chapter Five  



	7. Chapter 6

Doppelgänger Chapter Six/12

James Conlon's Residence  
Thursday, March 29, 2007/10 pm

He found himself back in his study, another scotch in hand, sitting in the same place as he had the night before, with cat in lap, curled up contentedly purring and slowly, ever so slowly sinking into a deep sleep. Unlike the other night, the small lamp on the desk was turned on low, while there was a small fire going in the fireplace—mostly for "decoration" as opposed to the need for heat this night. His long fingers caressed the soft fur as he once again contemplated what had happened.

Captain Rabb had won, fair and square. He shook his head. The man was good. He wondered briefly if he was as good an investigator as he was an attorney. The brief thought crossed his mind—maybe, just maybe, he could lure him out of the military into a position on his staff. He discarded that notion almost as fast as it occurred—the man was obviously career-military—no shaking his conviction in the career path he had chosen for himself.

He could have been, nay, should have been more disconcerted about the loss, but he found that he couldn't be. In some ways, it was easier to shake off this loss than others — primarily because he knew justice would be served — and with a greater ferocity than would otherwise be available through the civilian court system. Yeah, he could rest easy with this one.

His eyebrows crinkled in concentration. Why did he feel so convinced that justice would be served better with his loss in this case? Was it the length of sentence Morrison would receive for his crimes? He shook his head. Relatively speaking, especially in terms of the crimes Juice O'Malley had committed, Morrison's crimes were minor in nature. No, it had to come down to the strength of integrity and conviction coming from opposing counsel, which was, he admitted wryly, a rather unfair reflection on defense counsel everywhere – not that Rabb had been functioning as a defense counsel, of course. He might tussle with defense counsel because he was convinced the parties he prosecuted were guilty—but defense counsel were an essential part of the judicial system and were, for the most part, fair and honorable people in themselves. No, it had a LOT to do with the strength of conviction that just emanated from the Naval officer. It had been a long, long time since he encountered an opposing attorney who believed as firmly as Rabb had in doing what he was doing. In a strange sort of way, it matched his own convictions.

He sighed. Locki was once again on his lap. He ruffled the fur a little. "Come on, Locki. Enough reflection—let's hit the sack." He pushed the reluctant feline off his lap and together they made their way upstairs to his bedroom.

Burnett's Guest Cottage  
La Jolla, CA  
Thursday, March 29, 2007/10 pm

Sex with Mac, he decided, would never be a routine part of married life. Not that he would have wanted it to become that, of course, but tonight. . .

Shortly after putting Mahara to bed, they had continued into their own bedroom, where he proceeded to make love to her with what for him was an almost desperate intensity -- unusual for him. Mac at first had been taken by surprise but then, true to both form and her character, had quickly recovered and gave as good as she had received. Now, she was in the bathroom, answering "nature's call," while he straightened out the bed sheets and thought about what had just happened.

She came out, clad in a deep burgundy colored nightgown he'd given her on Valentine's Day and flopped down beside him after crawling under the sheets he had just straightened. "That was some performance, flyboy. You want to tell me what was going on?"

He glanced at her and just for a moment, he was taken back to that hotel room in Paraguay when it had just been him and her and a whole lot of unanswered questions. He had been taken with both how beautiful and spicy she looked. The moment faded and he glanced away from her and scooted further down in the bed. He tossed a brief and shy glance at her and opened up his left arm. "Want to get settled, first?"

She didn't just "creep" over to his side, she swooped in and claimed a spot that had been hers for as long as they had been married. Then she glanced up at him. "Well?"

His right hand and fingers fiddled with the top hem of the sheet while his left arm drew her closer to him, as if he would lose something without the closer contact. Or perhaps gain something—that thought burst across his mind in a mini-flash and he had the sense of gaining both courage and comfort from that contact.

For her part, she let him pull her closer—she had learned something about this man early in their marriage—he was much more apt to open up to her after a vigorous round of love-making that any "crowbar" she could use otherwise. There was something really bothering him tonight, and over the last two years, she had learned a fair degree of patience—learning from him, she grinned wryly to herself—patience had never, ever been a really strong suit of hers. She waited, but while she waited she snuggled in ever closer, as if to lend him the courage or strength—or whatever it was he needed from her, at the same time.

"Mac," he started, and she was instantly alerted to the softness and tentativeness of his tone of voice. "What did you feel like when you found out about how you look just like Diane?"

Of all the questions she might have been expecting, that one was not one she could have anticipated. She lifted her head to look at his face—and, for once, it wasn't nearly shielded as much as it could have been. She paused, thinking. He must have had a good reason for asking—in the short two years they'd been together, she'd learned that he had to "process"—for lack of a better word—what he was feeling before expressing the words or articulating the emotions he felt. So, she had learned to answer his questions as directly as she could before questioning him and his reasons for the questions he asked. She shifted a little so she could look up at him and watch his face, his beautiful expressive eyes which were, at this moment, troubled and uncertain.

"Well, I was shocked, to begin with." She looked down, both to give him a modicum of privacy and to gather her memories. "It's a bit unnerving to discover one has a twin, a virtual double, out there." Then, and only then, did she lift her head up again, this time eyebrows raised. He only gestured for her to continue. She lowered her head again, this time eyebrows pursed as tightly together as they could get in pursuit of certain, long-time gone memories. "Then I was uncertain and just a tiny bit jealous, I think."

He appreciated her efforts to be as honest and forthcoming as she could get concerning a sensitive subject. Even after all these years …He wouldn't ask for any more—and he resisted the temptation to tease her. He shifted so he could look her in the face this time. "Would you be surprised if I told you I met my 'twin' in Indianapolis?"

She managed not to say 'You're kidding!' and looked at him thoughtfully. "Before tonight's 'command performance,' yes." She shook her head, letting her longer hair flow around her face and tickle her shoulders. "But now—is that what happened in Indy?"

"Yeah." He didn't want to look at her and stared down at his fingers playing with the hem of the sheet, pleating it between his fingers. He tossed a really quick, shy glance over at his wife. "The D.A., Jimmy Conlon, is the spittin' image of me!! It's like looking in a mirror." He shifted. "There are little differences, of course—his hair is a bit longer and the color is, I think, a bit darker—but, same height, eyes the same color... Mac, our faces are the same! If I didn't know differently, we could have the same mother, be twin brothers." He shook his head. "I just don't know. . ."

Mac took advantage of his temporary befuddlement and shifted to bring her eyes at the same level as his. "Same cocky attitude?"

He snorted. "Brash New Yorker, I think."

"I'm assuming you 'got a charge' out of going up against someone like that?"

He got the sheepish look she had learned to love a long time ago. "Yeah---maybe a little too much, I'm afraid."

"You know, at some point, you're going to have to 'make nice' with him?"

"Yeah, I know." He glanced at her. "So what do you suggest??"

Her eyebrows arched. "You mean since neither one of us really likes to apologize?"

He gulped. They had both learned to say "I'm sorry" to each other in the intervening years since their wedding—but it hadn't been easy, AND that change in personal style didn't necessarily mean the change extended to others outside of their marriage. "Ya caught me, didn't you??"

She only grinned and then turned serious. "I have a suggestion."

He paused in his fingering of the sheet. "I'm listening."

"Why don't you call him and invite him to come out to San Diego and observe the trial—as a courtesy?"

The nervous fiddling with the bedclothes stopped, and she could tell he was processing that idea at top speed. She loved the way his face broke out in the "flyboy" smile that had been missing for so long the last two years they were stationed together at Headquarters. "That's a good idea." He leaned over and planted a kiss on top of her head.

"Y'know, there's just one thing that really bothers me." Mac meant it, but she also wanted to go to sleep on a lighter note.

"Only one?" He tried for a teasing tone.

"Yeah; you said he has eyes like yours." Mac shook her head decisively. "Not allowed. Denied! No one can have your eyes but you!"

She leaned back and settled against the headboard. "So he's got the same cocky attitude." She looked at him. "So, what are you afraid of?"

He looked at her, startled. "What makes you think I'm afraid?"

She leaned towards him. "Harm, this is me—Mac. I know you, remember?" Her eyebrows arched upward.

He shifted. "I don't know." He sighed, glanced at the bedside clock. "It's getting late—will you let me 'sleep' on it?"

He hated the troubled look that came on her face. "As long as we talk about it—at some point in the not-too-far future."

He leaned over to turn off the light and they both shifted, spooning in preparation to actually getting some sleep this night. "That's a promise, Mac."

Her grin was wry, bittersweet. "Yeah—and Harmon Rabb never makes a promise he can't keep."

He wasn't sure what her response meant, but that, too, was an issue they were going to have to talk about. He promised himself—after this case was all over, he was going to make good on that promise. And then he let sleep claim him until the next morning.

End Chapter Six


	8. Chapter 7

Doppelgänger Chapter Seven/12

NCIS Regional HQ

Naval Station, San Diego

Tuesday, 5 June 2007

Harm leaned back in his chair, pencil in his right hand dancing on his lower lip in an unconscious manner. He was lost in thought.

Mac was right, he thought. Jimmy Conlon should be here—if nothing else, to make up for the rather churlish behavior both of them had engaged in during his brief stint two plus month ago in Indianapolis. He leaned forward and flipped through his rolodex looking for the newest addition to his rather extensive card file – 22 years worth, now. He'd entered the number into his Blackberry, having finally gotten used to using the PDA, but in the office, he typically flipped through the cards. . Jimmy, in an unexpected and sharply pleasant gesture, had given him his card after their joint press conference in March. It was, Harm thought in a rueful manner, as if Jimmy had recognized too, just how "silly" the macho game they had indulged in really was. That gesture made it easier, he mused as the phone rang in the office in Indianapolis, for him to make this overture. The receptionist answered the phone and he put in his request.

"Captain Rabb, NCIS San Diego, California, for James Conlon, please." As he waited for Jimmy to come onto the line, his thoughts flitted to the latest exploits of both his older "daughter" Mattie and his biological daughter. He couldn't help the grin as he remembered Mattie's disgust at being the target of Mahara's attempt to "share her milk" at breakfast that a.m.—almost the entire 6 ozs. or so of milk had ended up in Mattie's lap, necessitating a change of clothing for the still mainly-wheelchair bound teenager. She had stormed back to her room, and Harm had sworn he could see the steam rising above her head. Mac had excused herself, motioning Chloe to sit and finish her own breakfast —with a raised eyebrow tossed in his direction—it had been his "fault," after all, in failing to give Mahara a "sippy cup" instead of a more traditional glass without a lid—as she followed Mattie to assist in whatever fashion Mattie would allow her to in changing. Just then, he heard Conlon's voice.

"Conlon."

"Good morning. How's the weather out there in the 'heartland'?" Harm had learned a long time ago, a general pleasant inquiry on the well being of the other party often helped smooth the way for him to get whatever it was he wanted. (Granted, he had "gone overboard" when trying to track Mac down during the Paraguay event, but it was still a good rule to follow.)

"Sunny—and humid," was the simple and abrupt reply. "What can I do for you, Captain?"

"Sir, we thought you might appreciate our efforts out here if you were to actually observe the court-martial process in the matter of Petty Officer Morrison."

There was a silence, and Harm could appreciate the impact such an offer might have on the other man. Conlon's replay came back within a matter of seconds and Harm had to admit, the man was fast on his feet—as was appropriate for a good attorney. "That's generous of you, Captain." There was a pause. "However, I'm not going to be able to make it—there're a number of things currently 'up in the air'—and I'm not going to be able to get away for a while." Jimmy didn't think Rabb would appreciate hearing he was about to "toss his hat in the ring" and start campaigning for the position of State Attorney General. He continued, "However, I do have an associate or two who might appreciate a trip to San Diego."

Harm demonstrated he was equally fast on his feet. "You mean, Ms. Chase or Ms. Scofield?"

"You've got it. I'll have to ask. There might be one problem with Annabeth, though—she's got an almost two-year old-daughter—she's a widow. So child care might be a problem." There was a pause and Harm thought he could almost literally hear the wheels in Conlon's head spinning. "When exactly is the trial?"

"Next week. Starts on Monday, as a matter of fact."

"I'll check with both ladies then." Conlon unexpectedly chuckled. "I'm sure either one of them would be eager to take a 'field trip' to San Diego." Harm fancied he could picture Conlon leaning forward to make a note. "I'll give you a call later today or tomorrow to let you know." There was a pause. "Thanks for the offer."

"You're very welcome, Mr. Conlon." And with that, the conversation ended.

District Attorney's Office

Indianapolis

Same Day

Jimmy was leaning back in his chair once again and Annabeth was secretly amused — someday, she thought, he's going to lean back too far and fall out of it. He was studying both women intently.

"Ladies, I have a proposition for you."

Mo raised her eyebrows at him and asked, "A 'proposition'?"

He had the good grace to blush just a tiny bit and Annabeth was tickled pink to discover that underneath the brash New Yorker attitude, there was a sense of self-consciousness. "Not like that, Mo." He grinned at her and threw back: "Yellow light!"

Both of the women smiled and relaxed back in their respective chairs. Annabeth swore she could see a glitter of excitement in those stunning eyes. She pulled herself back into "professional mode." "So what's the 'proposition'?"

"Either one of you ever been to San Diego?"

"San Diego?!" Now it was Annabeth's eyebrows that went up. "What's going on?"

Jimmy leaned forward. "I just got a call from Captain Rabb inviting either me and/or one of my staff to go out there and observe Petty Officer Morrison's court-martial." He shifted back in his seat to observe the effect of his words on his colleagues.

It was Annabeth whose quiet whisper broke the sudden quiet in the room. "I've never been outside the Midwest, let alone to either coast."

Mo glanced at her and then followed up with her own remark. "I've been there a couple of times—but it's been years and years ago—as a child."

"I take it both of you would like to go."

Both women nodded—then Annabeth's face fell. "I have Hailey—and it would be difficult to take her with me and. . ."

Jimmy leaned forward. "If child care for Hailey weren't a problem. . .?"

"Then I'd go in a heartbeat."

He shifted back in his chair again. "Okay. What say you 'flip' for the privilege?"

Both nodded and he pulled a quarter from his pocket. "Okay, who wants to call it?"

Annabeth and Mo glanced at each other—then Annabeth said, "tails" while Mo responded "heads." Their responses prompted a grin at each other and then they looked towards their boss and mentor. He promptly tossed the quarter in the air, caught it as it came down, and slammed it down on his arm with his palm. He cautiously lifted his palm and looked at both of them, eagerly sitting on the edge of their chairs waiting for the results. He tossed a lop-sided smile at Annabeth and said quietly, "It's 'tails.'"

Both sat there quietly, stunned, and then Mo got up and reached over to hug Annabeth. "I'm so happy for you—really I am!" She released Annabeth just enough to push her back so she could see her face. "You really could use a mini-vacation. You haven't really had a real 'vacation' since. . ." and here Mo faltered—she really didn't want to bring up Annabeth's widowhood. She gathered herself and added, "If you don't want to take Hailey and/or if Hailey will prevent you from going, I'll take care of her for you!"

Annabeth smiled through the gathering tears in her eyes. "That's okay, Mo. You don't have to do that."

Mo's lips pursed rather tightly. "Yes, I do. It's one thing I can do to help you—something I haven't really been able to find in all these months since. . ." Then a slight begging tone crept into her voice. "Please—let me do this for you. It would help me as much as you. . ."

Annabeth was fighting back the tears. Jimmy hung back, arms folded across his chest, as he watched the unfolding scene. Whatever questions he'd about professionalism in this office when he first arrived, there was absolutely no doubt about the dedication and loyalty between his colleagues—something he both approved of—and found rewarding after all the political infighting in the New York City office. It did his heart good, too, to see such bonding, even though as an "alpha male," it did tend to make him want to squirm just a tiny bit.

So it was settled. Annabeth was going to San Diego, Hailey was staying with Mo at night and would be with her nanny during the day. Annabeth felt a tad bit guilty—what mother wouldn't?—but, at the same time, she felt a tiny thrill of excitement running through her. It was the first time she had experienced that feeling since Jack's death a little over a year ago and, at first, she hadn't recognized it. When she did, it pleased her to no end—maybe, just maybe, the long period of mourning was ending.

End Chapter Seven


	9. Chapter 8

Doppelgänger Chapter 8

WARNING – See A/N 3 to the Prologue. If you are convinced that LT Sleaze is a sociopath, not salvageable etc etc you may wish to opt out of the rest of the story. Up to you. However, we pose this theory to you: most if not all fans of the show and JAG fanfiction believe that Harm has leadership qualities. If you believe that, then why can't you believe that he can turn Vuk around?

Author's Note. The "Snowflake Twins" were created by highplainswoman for the story "Afterburners." Sadly not yet finished (it will be …someday…promise …) it can be found on LT Chris Shane and LT Becca Fielding are cousins – young JAG Corps officers who met Vic when they reported to JAG HQ shortly before he transferred to the JLSO in summer 2005. For the purpose of "Doppelgänger," they were transferred to the JLSO in January 2007 and the events chronicled in "Afterburners" did not take place.

CO's Office, Joint Legal Service Office

Naval Station

San Diego

Wednesday, 6 June 2007

"Riiingg." Grabbing her phone, Mac noted that the call was coming in on her private line, the LED display telling her it was Harm.

"Hey, Sailor," her low, slightly husky voice, with just a hint of laughter and anticipation, never failed to arouse him. "Hey, 'Skipper'," his use of the honorific normally reserved for a Navy commanding officer was intended to both tease and reflect his pride in her.

"Haaarmmmm," her quick chuckle at the 'skipper' was, as it always was, their personal shorthand – the unspoken communication they'd shared for over ten years now. "I'm not in the Navy."

"I don't care. I like calling you 'skipper.'"

"Sooooo…Captain double-oh-seven…what's up?"

Now he was the one laughing. "Need a small favor."

"Personal or professional?" Mac was the only one who could make routine business-like chat sound sexy.

"Sorta-both." Harm explained that Conlon had called back to let him know that he couldn't come to San Diego himself, but that Annabeth Chase would represent the D.A.'s Office, observing Petty Officer Morrison's trial for fraudulent enlistment, perjury, obstruction of justice, UA and missing movement. "He said she's never been to San Diego before; she'll arrive Sunday. I was thinking you could ask Vukovic to meet her, take her to Pass and ID for her rental car pass and a visitor's badge for the week so she can get through the gate Monday without any trouble."

"I don't think he has the duty this weekend, and the duty section should really be the ones to take care of her. All the troops work hard - I don't like asking someone to give up their liberty …um-m-m-m …did you have a special reason for wanting him?" Mac paused, wondering what Harm was up to. Maybe…. "Which one is it, anyway? The blond or the brunette?" San Diego's local paper and TV stations had seized on and played up the local Navy angle; which had the JLSO's and AIRPAC's PAOs fielding questions right and left, since the JFK was deployed. Mac had seen both prosecutors with Conlon at the press conference in front of the courthouse in Indianapolis, and Tracy had been complimentary towards both women when she debriefed Harm and Mac upon her return to San Diego, before she codded out to the ship.

"I dunno …I really can't remember which was which; both were at all the meetings and in court. The other one's called "Mo" but I think that's part of her first name, not her last. We could do it, but we're taking Mahara and the Roberts' kids to Sea World Sunday. I figure Vic's the natural one to meet her; he's trial counsel for the court-martial so he can give her a rundown on what'll happen Monday …and alert her that the press'll corner her at some point if they realize who she is, since she prosecuted Juice O'Malley."

"Okay." Mac shrugged, not really caring who met the visiting prosecutor. "As favors go, if it involves Vic, I owe you, anyway. You did good with Vukovic, Harm, you really did. Taking him TAD at NCIS for five months after Bud and I took command to shape him up or make the case for adsepping him was one of the best favors you ever did for me. I think it was a wake up for him from the git-go – more like the alarm blaring in his ear – right from when the three of us met with him after the change of command and told him how the train was gonna run."

"I started to see it when he snared the disbursing scam artists back in February – his first big investigation with you, Jen, and the 'Snowflake twins.' He definitely started to "get" what ethics and integrity are all about when he was offered a pretty high dollar bribe to tank that case. Now that you've returned him to the JLSO, we can see that he's still Vic, but not the same Vic we knew at JAG. He's really changed, and not just the way he acts with his DivO, the other J.O.'s and the enlisteds, not to mention Bud and myself. He's confident in his abilities because he knows he's prepared, without the overbearing arrogance and sleaze. I've no qualms about him prosecuting Morrison with the press watching. And, Bud gave 2nd chair to Snowflake "A" – it seems like all Becca has to do is look at Vic and he snaps to."

"Good." Harm really was pleased with how he'd turned Vukovic around. "Bud told me on the q.t. that Vic went to the petty officer and the ensign he'd kept hitting on last year, apologizing for how he'd acted. He went to Bud first, to get Bud's approval to contact them. I think Bud might've called each one first. And, the scuttle's reached Bud that he's told Graves he wouldn't feel right dating a coworker – she'd invited him to some party." Harm laughed wryly. "Bud says he's not in love with her, so it's not like it was with us …."

"God, I hope not – I wouldn't wish those years of angst on anyone." Mac too could laugh now, at Harm's oblique reference to their long history of bicker and banter at JAG. "Every day it seems longer ago and farther away, Harm ….that part of our lives,,,,,"

"Hey, you'll have us getting old …getting grey ….don't do that…" Funny, Harm thought, most days he felt younger, not older. Maybe that's what happiness was doing for him.

"Anyway, you're right about orienting Conlon's rep for the trial and the press coverage we know we're in for. I'll speak to Vic or have Bud do it – that stuff's the XO's job!" Mac returned to Harm's request that Vic meet the prosecutor from Indianapolis upon her arrival.

"And, I think we should have her to the house one evening during the week, maybe grill on the pool deck. I'll ask Bud and Harriet too…Whichever one she is – the blond or the brunette -- they both looked pretty young on TV at the press conference with you and Conlon; maybe the J.O.'s can entertain her another evening or two, take her to one of the hot spots in the Gaslamp. In fact," Mac was thinking out loud, "the ones getting out might be interested in talking to her about what it's like in a busy D.A.'s office – I know some are applying for Assistant D.A. and Assistant Public Defender jobs. Maybe she'd be willing to talk to anyone interested and answer questions after court recesses one afternoon."

Switching topics smoothly, Mac twitted her husband. "Ready for Shamu, Sailor? It's all Mahara's been talking about since we told her we'd take her."

"Better Shamu than the overgrown rodent again," Harm shot back, "I'll never live down those mouse ears you all made me wear!"

"In the photo album, Sailor….gotta go…see you at home." Mac could barely speak she was laughing so hard at the mental picture of Harm with Mahara on his shoulders, bending down and leaning over so that she could kiss Mickey-the-mouse, both of them with mouse ears on their heads! Harm must not have seen the similar picture Bud had on his bookcase . Life was so good. She had everything she'd ever wanted.

End Chapter Eight


	10. Chapter 9

Doppelgänger Chapter Nine/12  
Joint Legal Service Office/Navy-Marine Corps Trial Judiciary -Southwest Judicial Circuit  
Naval Station, San Diego  
Monday, 11 June 2007 0650/6:50 am

Pleasantly surprised to see a "Reserved for Ms. Chase" placard on a stanchion exactly where she'd been told it would be, Annabeth grinned as she parked and surveyed the area. The signs on the various nearby buildings were "foreign" to her, all odd combinations of letters and numbers, as were the uniforms rushing about – she counted at least four different-appearing ones on the men and women heading into the JLSO/Trial Judiciary building. So much for assuming everyone in the military wore exactly the same uniform, she mused; then remembered that Morrison's uniform in Indianapolis had been very different from CDR Manetti's and CAPT Rabb's uniforms, which somewhat resembled business suits, except for the gold stripes and the ribbons and nametags! She wondered for a moment what her handsome escort of the previous day would be wearing.

FLASHBACK

"Gregory Vukovic, but call me Vic," the dark-haired young man holding a hand-lettered sign "A B CHASE" smiled engagingly as she approached him on the bustling airport concourse, "Annabeth Chase – thanks so much for meeting me on a Sunday afternoon. I've never been to San Diego before; the ocean looks so HUGE from the air!"

"It goes all the way to China!"

Annabeth looked at him sharply, wondering if he was making fun of her, relieved by the admiring expression and pleasant smile.

"I'll take it!" Grinning happily, Annabeth decided to splurge and pay the extra for a convertible – 'the meals allowance is generous and I won't eat that much,' she told herself, so the difference between the compact car the Marion County Travel Office had reserved for her and the bright red convertible the agent said was available wouldn't really be all that much out of pocket.

Standing to the side, Vic listened to Annabeth smoothly negotiate an additional discount, admiring the pretty blond. Truth be told, it'd been months since he'd so much as looked at a woman, except in the "line of duty," as agreed to with the other investigators, to bust the disbursing scam case. The day after the JLSO change of command, Col Mackenzie's and LCDR Roberts' stern, unyielding faces and ice cold voices had scared him shitless, even without CAPT Rabb sitting silently to the side, never taking his equally cold eyes off him. Six months later, Gregory Vukovic had a quite different view of himself and the world around him.

"This is fabulous!" Her hair blowing wildly in the breeze, Annabeth leaned over the rail of the ferry between downtown San Diego and Coronado 'Island.' "You're sure it's not more than 10 minutes across?"

Chuckling indulgently at her obvious pleasure in the mini-"cruise," Vic mentally debated which of the Ferry Landing eateries to take her to for a late lunch/early dinner – the snack bar, the pricey Peohe's, the casual Greek or the nice Italian place – all had good food and seating overlooking the bay. "What's your pleasure, Annabeth? Seafood, Greek, Italian, deli …there's one of each plus a Burger King and a hot dog wagon at Ferry Landing, as well as 50 or so shops and kiosks."

Watching the people strolling on the boardwalk or sitting on benches at the edge of the beach, Annabeth shrugged. "Anything we can grab to go is fine, and maybe walk around and sit on a bench? I don't want a big meal after flying most of the day."

"Are you called Annabeth or Anna or Beth? I look around when someone says "Greg," Vic was enjoying the pleasant "duty" tremendously; in between gyros from Spiro's and Annabeth's carefully choosing postcards to send back to the D.A.'s office, he'd managed to give her the 50 cent version of the court-martial process and a thumbnail of the TV and newspaper reporters who'd requested access to the base to cover the trial.

"When I was …" Annabeth faltered and started again, …"before ….I was sometimes called "Alph" …at Vic's quizzical look, she explained, "you know, short for "alphabet" 'cause my initials are A-B-C." It was mostly Jack who'd called her "alph" from the time she'd accepted his proposal and he'd gleefully pointed out "your initials will be A-B-C if you change your name!" Annabeth would never admit that wanting the nickname, the first she'd ever had, was what had made her decide to use her husband's last name.

She shivered suddenly, tears stinging her eyes, realizing anew that she'd never hear that laughing "alllphhhh" again.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you …" Vic had no idea what he'd said; he'd just been chatting, enjoying the sun and the pretty lady.

"It's nothing you said," Annabeth mumbled, desperately looking for something else to focus on. "Look, is that an ice cream stand there?"

"Thanks so much for showing me around. I'll meet you in the court building lobby a little after 7 tomorrow morning? I'll stay out of the way so you can get ready for court."

END FLASHBACK

"Good morning!" Vic's eyes widened. If the jeans and polo shirt clad Annabeth had been pretty, with her long blond hair blowing about, this woman was beautiful, in a smartly elegant white suit with a navy shell peeking from the lapels, her hair pinned into an intricate French braid, gold earrings and jewelry gleaming. "The reporters will MUCH prefer you to the JLSO's PAO - Public Affairs Officer!" Catching himself, he hurriedly covered, "I mean, they'll want the Indianapolis D.A.'s take on the court-martial, compared to the civilian proceedings that convicted Juice O'Malley."

Her eyes widening equally appreciatively at the lieutenant's appearance in the crisp white uniform with its' gold and black shoulder boards and gleaming gold belt buckle with a matching insignia, Annabeth almost missed his snapping to "attention" and respectful "Good Morning, Ma'am" as a tall, slender officer approached. The fifth different uniform, she thought amusedly to herself, quickly gathering her wits about her as Vic indicated, "Colonel, this is Ms. Annabeth Chase from the Indianapolis D.A.'s office; Annabeth, my Commanding Officer, Colonel MacKenzie."

"Mac," shaking hands firmly, Mac pondered momentarily if Harm really hadn't remembered which Assistant D.A. was the blond and which was the brunette. "Welcome to JLSO San Diego, Ms. Chase. I like your car – I have one just like it!"

Turning to Vic, Mac continued, "I got your voicemail late last night, Lieutenant. Is everything on track?"

"Yes, Ma'am;" gesturing to include Annabeth in the explanations, Vic followed Mac as his CO motioned them into the small office next to the reception counter. "Defense counsel called me about 9 – Morrison wants to plead. I left voicemail for you and the XO, Ma'am, called LT Fielding, LCDR Gonzales, and LT Graves - my second chair, my supervisor and our PAO," Vic quickly explained to Annabeth and continued. "We divided up the calls, notified Judge Reynolds – he gave us an extra hour this morning - the CDO at the Region said she'd get the word to the Chief of Staff and the SJA – the SJA said she'd call the Admiral, and LT Graves called the reporters on the access list to tell them the trial won't start till 10."

"LT Fielding and I met at 6, she's at the Region now, meeting with the Admiral and Chief of Staff and their SJA to get advance approval for one of three pleas and sentence combinations; I'm going to meet with the defense at 0730, and she'll join us when she arrives, to see if we can come to terms." Grimacing, Vic sighed, "I was really looking forward to proving the charges, but I know a plea's in the Navy's best interest. And, LT Graves notified the Brig Chasers and the bailiff of the change in schedule, though the defense wants Morrison here at 0800 anyway."

"Very well, Lieutenant," Mac nodded approvingly, "it sounds like you have it all well in hand. I'll notify CAPT Rabb not to come over until closer to 10; please keep me and the XO informed and let him know if you need any additional assistance. You have a legalman standing by to prep the pre-trial agreement if you come to terms?"

"Yes Ma'am," Vic assured. "Would you like to get coffee and sit in on the negotiations Annabeth? I know the Indianapolis D.A. has an interest in an 'appropriate sentence.'"

"Yes, thanks to both – the coffee and the offer to observe." Annabeth was impressed with Vic's aplomb and his professional manner as he'd summarized the totally changed ball game for his CO.

As Mac turned to leave the room, her face three-quarters turned from Vic and Annabeth, Annabeth gasped. "Uh …Mac," she nearly stuttered, "do you have family in Indianapolis?"

"No, why?" Mac's tone was suddenly wary. There could be only one reason someone would ask a virtual stranger a question like that ….

"You look a lot like …not like a twin, maybe a sister or a cousin …a police lieutenant I work with sometimes – Lt Dani McKinnen. I 'felt' like I'd met you before, but wasn't sure until you turned, maybe because of your being in uniform or because your hair style is a little different ….."Annabeth's voice trailed off at Mac's expression.

"No, no one in Indianapolis" Mac's voice was very, very firm. Another 'twin' she DIDN'T need!

"It's just so odd," Annabeth couldn't help saying. "You maybe know, my boss and CAPT Rabb, from NCIS here, do look like twins, I mean exactly; they could be identical twins."

"So I've heard," Mac's tone was dry. "I'll see you two in a bit. Good luck with the negotiations."

"What?!" Annabeth shot at Vic, whose mouth was twitching as he tried to control himself. "What'd I say?"

"You don't know? I guess there's no reason you would."

"Know what? Why did she react like that?" Annabeth was starting to feel like she was on the "Yellow Brick Road." These people were just too weird.

"CAPT Rabb is Colonel MacKenzie's husband. Everybody's talked about how he and Mr. Conlon look exactly alike." Vic couldn't help himself - looking quickly to make sure the door was closed, he dissolved in laughter for just a moment. "This is just too funny …funny weird, not funny ha-ha, that they both have a look-a-like!"

0800  
Conference Room at the JLSO

"Look," Vic snarled, "I am totally ready to prove each and every charge and specification. Your dirtbag client wants to plead, he can plead without a deal or he can plead with a deal or he can plead "not guilty." I frankly don't care. The perjury and the false official statements – the fraudulent enlistment – are non-negotiable. We can talk about the obstruction of justice, UA and missing movement charges." Vic had about had it with LT Jeffries, Morrison's defense counsel. The two junior officers had gone head to head at least three times in the past year, before Vic's TAD to NCIS, pretty much splitting the verdicts. Both were good - and both knew it. Perhaps they were both posturing a bit in front of Annabeth.

LT Becca Fielding was at a dead stop on Harbor Drive; the road closed by a massive accident near the Dole banana barge piers. She'd relayed the Convening Authority's 1st, 2nd and 3rd choice of plea and sentence combinations to Vic, who'd been trying to get the defense to the table for the last half hour.

"IF you can get through my motions" scoffed Jeffries. In reality, he wanted nothing more than to plea bargain this loser case. He just hated to give in to Gregory Vukovic.

"Law's on my side," retorted Vic. "Up to you."

"Okay, perjury and the false statements. Three years." After nearly three months in pretrial confinement in the Miramar brig, Morrison was a wreck, but until yesterday had been adamant he wouldn't plead. "Let them prove it" was his fatalistic response each time LT Jeffries tried to get his okay to open negotiations. Sunday afternoon, Morrison apparently had some sort of epiphany on the eve of trial as Jeffries met with him one last time.

Vic shook his head. Finally, they were getting somewhere. "For three years we want the UA too. And, you withdraw all motions and waive the issues for appeal." The UA was a throwaway – Morrison hadn't requested his leave be extended when the judge in Indianapolis had adjourned court before Morrison was cross-examined. His leave had been up Saturday night.

"He can't pass providency - he swears he spoke with the watch on the ship. Also, we want the Indianapolis DA to sign off – no prosecution back in Indiana." The back and forth was in full swing.

Vic shrugged. "Okay on the UA, but you know I've no authority to speak for the DA's Office."

"But SHE does!" Jeffries stared pointedly at Annabeth, demanding, "What's your role here, anyway? You prosecuted Juicy – Juice O'Malley. Was there a secret deal between your boss and CAPT Rabb? Is my client going to be facing an extradition proceeding and a second trial?"

Before Vic and Jeffries' eyes, the elegantly clad woman who'd been listening silently with an almost amused expression on her face was transformed – she almost appeared to "morph" -- into the formidable prosecutor who'd lost but a handful of cases in the years she'd been with the D.A.'s office. Annabeth's voice was icy cold. "There are no secret handshakes, no secret deals, no under-the-table agreements, gentlemen. I'm here as an observer. Of course we have an interest in an appropriate sentence – your client appeared in OUR courtroom – his Navy uniform lending credibility to his giving a false alibi in a trial for carjacking, murder, kidnapping, rape and a second murder of a ten year old!"

LT Jeffries winched, but pressed the point. "So is three years acceptable to the State of Indiana? For the perjury – the rest of the charges are military – they have nothing to do with a civilian court. You know the obstruction's multiplicious with the perjury – at least for sentencing."

"Yes." Annabeth and Mo and Conlon had discussed it -- they doubted Morrison would get more than two years if he was convicted in the State court. "I'll sign a separate document."

0945  
JLSO CO's Office

"Ready?" Mac grinned at Harm as they watched from her window – the media milling about smartly had headed into the building a few minutes ago. "We should give them a few minutes to get into the courtroom so we don't have to run the 'gauntlet' outside the courtroom doors! Our seats are just behind Vic and Becca's. I told Annabeth to sit with us."

Mac had told Harm what Annabeth had said about her resemblance to the Indianapolis police officer and he could see she was hiding a bit of upset behind her Marine façade. "God, Harm, it took years for us to come to terms with my looking like Diane. If I look like some police lieutenant named Dani, that means SHE looks like Diane too! Did you meet her when you were there?"

"No; at least I don't remember her; I know she wasn't in Conlon's office when I met him, Annabeth, Mo and their investigators- not police detectives, but D.A.'s office investigators. I don't really remember much about who was at the press conference – it was a blur after the session with the judge."

"Whatever." Mac tried to shrug it off. She really didn't want to think about having another 'twin' out there in the world. Especially someone who worked with Harm's 'twin.' Really, it was just too weird.

"Bud'll love it. You know how he talks about parallel universes." Harm tried for a humorous touch.

"Whatever," Mac repeated, determined to put it out of her mind. "Don't encourage him." Changing the subject deliberately, she teased her husband, "You're SURE you don't remember Annabeth was the blond? She's really pretty. I think Vic may be a bit smitten."

"Nope." Harm was definite. "Yours is the only face I remember. Wellll…Mahara too! And Mattie and Chloe. And I guess my mom. And maybe Harriet….." Giving up, "C'mom, let's go see the Vicster in action."

"Not much to see," Mac shrugged. "Morrison's gonna plead out. What do you think Judge Reynolds will give him? Vic's not sure how much of a parade of E&M witnesses Jeffries is gonna put on. Hey, I've got an idea – we were planning to observe in court all day. Assuming it's over by mid-afternoon, let's bug out early and take Mahara to the beach. I've got a yen to put my toes in the water."

"You're on." Harm agreed instantly. "What's the use of living by the beach if we never go there. You'll wear that teeny tiny green bikini?" He leered at her suggestively, his eyes gleaming that "Harm" look, both of them stifling their laughter as they turned to the door.

End Chapter Nine


	11. Chapter 10

Doppelgänger Chapter Ten

Same day  
0950  
Corridor outside the main courtroom

"Damn," Harm muttered as he and Mac turned into the corridor leading to the lobby where the "courthouse" half of the building took over. "The Fourth Estate, so called, aren't all inside. They'll be all over us if they spot us…"

No sooner said than done. Despite the clear prohibition against photos inside the building, flashbulbs were popping, as the media pounced on the couple, well known to be husband and wife.

"Colonel! Captain! The word is that Petty Officer Morrison is going to plead guilty! Has there been a deal? Has the Indianapolis D.A. consented?? Is he here? Has the family agreed?? Captain, are you related to the D.A., James Conlon?? Did anyone tell you that you look like identical twins??" Even if Harm or Mac had been inclined to answer a single question, there was no way they could have gotten a word in between the media clamor!

"Quiet!!" Mac's bellow was worthy of any Marine – from D.I. to General. Harm was immediately reminded of a scene many years ago on a submarine – a Marine Major in skivvies reaming out a couple of Sailors.

Until they entered the "Courthouse" spaces, Mac controlled the building's common areas as JLSO CO. "You all attended the background brief last Friday and were clearly advised, no photographs inside. There'll be no statements or questions answered until court recesses for the day. Then, and not until, a statement will be made and questions will be answered – outside. Now, it's nearly 10, so I suggest you enter the courtroom if you wish to observe the proceedings – quietly please."

The reporters might have complied, even as they spotted Vic and Annabeth entering the corridor, except for the next to arrive.

In their late-90's, but still tall and regal in bearing, Ekaterina and Vasily Olevenowski had escaped Russia as children when the Revolution threw the country into chaos. Their families made their way to France, where they settled. Ice dancing stars in the 1930's and 1940's, Tatiania had been their only child and Rina their only grandchild. Attending every day of Juice O'Malley's trial, they had gotten to know Annabeth and Mo.

Spotting Annabeth, Madame Olevenowski was delighted to see her.

_"Madame Chase!"_ Both Ekaterina and Vasily spoke quite fluent English, but preferred French, the language of their adopted country. They hadn't spoken a word of Russian in nearly 90 years. They'd returned to their Paris apartment in the 6th arrondissement after Juice's conviction, but decided that coming to San Diego would give them final closure. They would then return to France for whatever time they had left on earth.

_"Êtes-vous ici avec Mademoiselle Scofield? Pourriez-vous nous dire ce qui va se passer? Nous n'avons jamais compris pourquoi ce militaire a menti."_ ("Are you here with Ms. Scofield? Can you tell us what is going to happen? We have never understood why this military man lied.")

Annabeth welcomed the couple warmly, drawing them to the side and quickly introducing Harm and Mac, motioning Vic to go on ahead. Mindful of the gawking members of the "Fourth Estate," he strode forward, but paused as he heard Annabeth address the elderly couple in fluent French.

_"Je aurais aimé savoir que vous aviez décidé de venir à San Diego pour le procès, Madame, Monsieur. S'il vous plait, asseyez-vous avec le Colonel, le Capitaine et moi. Nous vous présenterons au Procureur militaire et vous expliquerons ce qui se passe la première fois que le juge laisse tout le monde faire une pause."_ ("I wish I had known you had decided to come to San Diego for the trial, Madame, M'sieur. Please sit with me and the Colonel and the Captain. We will introduce you to the military prosecutor and explain what is happening the first time the judge lets everyone have a break.")

_"Merci. On ne pouvait pas rester à l'écart. Nous devons être ici pour Tati et Rina. Nous savons que cet homme ne les a pas tuées, mais dans nos cœurs, il a aidé celui ce qui l'a fait."_ ("We could not stay away. We need to be here for Tati and Rina. We know this man did not kill them, but in our hearts he helped the other one who did.") Vasily had been determined to come to San Diego, even as Ekaterina had hesitated to make another long trip.

Harm spoke passable French; Mac had picked up some in her travels. _"Madame et Monsieur Olevenowski, nous sommes désolés pour votre perte."_ ("We are so sorry for your loss.") Harm met their sorrowful gaze firmly, his sympathy and sorrow visible in his expressive eyes and on his face.

"Lieutenant – do you wish to be held in contempt by Judge Reynolds? It's 0959!" Mac hurriedly motioned everyone into the courtroom.

A short time later  
Courtroom

"How do you plead?" CAPT Glenn Reynolds had completed nearly 30 years active duty; on his "twilight tour" as Circuit Military Judge, he ran his courtroom with a firm voice and judicious use of his gavel. He was determined that none of the young counsel would be allowed to "play" to the media packing the courtroom.

"To Charges II, III, and IV, and their specifications, guilty, Your Honor. To Charges I and V, and their specifications, not guilty." Both the defense and trial counsel were satisfied with what each was getting out of the deal. LT Jeffries' goal had shifted from the "Findings" to the "Sentencing" phase of the trial – his "job" now was to "beat the pretrial agreement" that is, have Petty Officer Morrison end up with less brig time than the sentence limits negotiated with the Convening Authority and trial counsel. A "bad conduct" rather than a "dishonorable" discharge was his secondary objective.

Several hours later.  
Courtroom

"OBJECTION, Your Honor!" Defense counsel was on his feet in a flash, almost bellowing his indignant objection.

"Counsel opened the door, Your Honor." LT Becca Fielding's response was made calmly, belying her intense awareness of the presence of her CO, XO, the Colonel's famous husband, and of course, the rows of media. On her feet facing the judge, what she didn't know was that "Snowflake A's" white blond hair and pretty features, next to Vic's dark good looks, had caught the eye of the media's sketch artists, who were quickly working in both color and black and white. Back in Kansas, proud parents, aunts, uncles and cousins were already set to tape every newscast that evening – the next day's papers would give them something to frame!

The sentencing phase of the trial had proceeded as expected. Vic had introduced transcripts of Morrison's direct and cross-examination at Juice's trial in Indiana into evidence. No one in his chain of command had anything bad to say about him – he had been a good Sailor, personable and well-liked by his shipmates, considered a team player who had the makings of a future enlisted leader. They were dumbfounded by what he had done in Indiana. Questioning of his friends by the ship's NCIS agent as to what he might have done as a teenager to lead him to use his deceased cousin's identity when he enlisted proved fruitless.

Harm had swallowed his pride and re-contacted Conlon, who had Ed and Ray scour both City and State criminal records and interview his and the cousin's family and friends. Neither the cousin nor Morrison had a juvenile record and the family and friends were marginally cooperative, claiming they didn't have a clue. Discussing it with Vic and Becca, Harm speculated. "The typical reason to use someone else's identity is that you have something to hide. In the case of an 18 year old wanting to enlist, you're afraid something you did will come to light when the recruiter makes the required checks: HS diploma, drugs, shoplifting, assault, DUI, something….." Becca and Vic were stymied. "Conlon's investigators are sure there isn't a sealed juvie record, he graduated from HS with okay grades, it seems like he was eligible to enlist with his own identity."

Morrison's explanation, part of his tearful unsworn statement, was a shock – but at least it wasn't anything they had overlooked: the two cousins had grown up together, and had decided in their sophomore year of high school to enlist together. The trouble was, Tim wanted to be a Sailor, and Donny wanted to be a Marine. The night Tim was killed in an auto accident, they'd flipped for it. Tim won, and they agreed to enlist in the Navy first and after that enlistment was up, get an inter-service transfer or get out and enlist in the Corps as "Osvets" – other-Service veterans. With Tim's death, Donny somehow decided to "honor" his cousin by using his name and ID!

'Unbelievable!!' Becca scribbled to Vic as the story came out. 'If he'd 'fessed up at some point, he might have gotten a waiver and been allowed to stay in!'

During the break, Vic and Becca had a hurried conversation with Annabeth, and with her help, they'd tactfully asked the grieving parents/grandparents to testify if the judge could be persuaded to allow it. Having already testified at Juice's trial, they readily agreed, and offered a treasured memento for trial counsels' use. Vic and Becca had decided to gamble that Morrison would say something in his unsworn statement about how sorry he was for contributing to the Olevenowski's grief – anything along those lines, they felt, would give them the opening they needed.

"The defense **most strongly** objects, Your Honor," counsel repeated, his voice moderated only slightly, as he frantically tried to think of a way out. "There is no question that my client was not involved in any way, shape or form in the deaths of Tatiania or Rina Olevenowski. To allow her family to testify, let alone to show a video of them, is prejudicial, inflammatory, and not within the scope of permissible rebuttal. Petty Officer Morrison only said that he is sorry for the family's grief. He didn't cause it – their testimony would not be proper rebuttal." This was a nightmare for LT Jeffries- the CO and XO of the command he desperately wanted to transfer to were watching, the press was watching, and the emotional impact of the Olevenowski's testimony could add years to his client's sentence, he figured.

"Counsel?" Judge Reynolds' cocked an eyebrow at Trial Counsel.

"It's permissible rebuttal, Your Honor. He said he's sorry for their grief, we want to show the extent of their grief, which his perjury added to!" Becca and Vic really wanted vindication, closure, something for this sorrowing couple. At 97, they should have been enjoying the September of their lives, watching their granddaughter prepare to follow her grandparents and mother to stardom on the ice, not watching their murderer's trial and now that of the man who'd tried to help him get away with it!

"If members were hearing the case, I would be more hesitant, but under the circumstances, I'll allow it for the limited purpose. We'll take a ten minute recess for you to set up a VCR and monitor." His Honor's gavel banged smartly.

Later  
Mac's office.

_"Merci. Merci beaucoup. Merci pour votre courage. Je ne regarderai jamais..uh-h-h .. 'dancer sur la glace' sans…um-m-m…elles seront toujours dans ma mémoire - Rina et sa mère."_ ("Thank you. Thank you very much. Thank you for your courage. I will never watch ice skating 'dancing on the ice' without ...ummm...they will always be remembered in my memory – Rina and her mother")Vic stumbled through his nearly forgotten high school and college French as he gave the Olevenowski's a copy of the precious tape that had had the courtroom filled with spectators and the media mesmerized, many in tears. In an exhibition program after the not-quite 10 year old Rina won the gold medal in the Junior Division at the Midwestern Sectionals, first Tatiania, and then her grandparents joined her on the ice. Their pride and happiness as a family was evident to the viewers as they danced and exchanged partners, whirling gracefully across the ice in costumes old-fashioned by today's standards. Petr Zolokoff's camera had panned to the crowd on its feet, roaring their approval, as his wife, daughter and in-laws dodged between the roses and other flower bouquets, the stuffed animals and mementos thrown from the stands. The final image was of a beaming, joyful Rina leaping to catch a stuffed bear. The original tape would forever be a piece of evidence.

End Chapter Ten.


	12. Chapter 11

Doppelgänger Chapter Eleven

Boardwalk overlooking beach

La Jolla, CA

Monday, 11 June 2007/1630 (4:30 pm)

"Wow!" Annabeth stood at the edge of the long flight of steps down to the beach. "It's so-o-o-o big!"

Vic could only smile a little—having served in the Navy for a certain period of time, he had gotten used to at least seeing the ocean and being aboard ship from time to time. He'd forgotten what it was like to see the ocean up close for the first time. Sunday afternoon, the wind had really picked up at Ferry Landing, so they'd quickly headed to the base at 32nd St. to get Annabeth's rental car pass and her visitor's badge. "We can go down – go in the water if you want."

Annabeth blushed a little and glanced at the handsome young man at her side. "This was supposed to be a business trip, Vic! I didn't pack a bathing suit – I'm wearing shorts."

He shrugged. "So just put your feet in the water." Admiring her bright red toenails, he teased "we'll see if the red comes off your toes – c'mon, you know you want to!"

Annabeth pulled the edges of her windbreaker closer to her. The wind was stirring and the air was a little cooler than she'd anticipated; it'd been so warm when they left the JLSO after the trial concluded.

"'Kay." She started down the steps. "Come on, let's go!"

She was astounded by the beach. Her eyes were wide with wonder and Vik found it hard to remember she was a hard-nosed prosecutor. He leaned over to ask in a low voice, "You've never been this close, have you?"

His nearness startled her and she turned her head to find herself gazing into stunning blue eyes. She shook her head. "No. First time—"she turned her head to gaze back out at the horizon. "Look at those waves! Wow!" As they got closer to the water's edge, her nose wrinkled. "It ---smells."

At that, he laughed out loud. "Of course it smells!! What do you think the ocean is full of, anyway??" He grinned. She whirled back to look at him. "You know how to take the romance out of a situation, don't you?"

He grinned. "Sorry." Then he got pseudo-serious once again. "Actually, it's too bad you didn't get to see the ocean sooner. With that hair and its color, you'd make a perfect 'beach 'bunn.'"

She sputtered indignantly, and then an idea came swooping out of nowhere—and she bent down and grabbed a handful of sand. He saw the movement of her hand and started backing away. "Oh, no—you don't." Then he whirled and started racing down the water's edge. She chased after him with a handful of sand she swore was going down his shirt as revenge for that sexist—although nice—comment. Within three or four running steps, however, she forgot about her mission and found herself feeling exhilarated and exuberant for the first time since Jack had died. All of a sudden, it was enough to be alive and to feel the wind at her back and to smell the ocean and to feel the cool water over her feet. She was so caught up in the emotion of it all, she didn't pay attention to the fact Vic had stopped and turned to face her—and she ran smack dab in front of him, with the end result, she bumped into him, falling down, and causing him to stumble back a couple of steps before landing on his butt, all but knocking over a tall figure. The tall figure whirled around, and, in doing so, stumbled over Vic's legs, nearly falling himself.

Annabeth, on hands and knees, was astounded at the speed with which the tall man whirled so that his back landed instead, causing Vic to yell out in pain. But it was what the third party was holding that caught her attention—it was a baby – a little girl -- apparently on an "outing to the beach" and she was starting to cry in a very loud voice since her father—Annabeth figured it had to be the father—had inadvertently squeezed the child as he fell in an effort to keep her safe.

"What the hell" were the first words from the mouth of the third innocent party in this incident, then when the baby started crying, his attention turned to the child he was holding. Annabeth was tremendously touched by the way the man's voice turned low and soft as he tried to comfort and console the child. "Ssshhhh, princess. Daddy's got you." He gently rocked the crying child and continued in a soothing voice.

Annabeth was so completely taken up by the drama unfolding before her, she didn't notice immediately when another woman, wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat with a long white man's shirt over an emerald green bikini, came up to them. She heard the father say,

"I don't think she's hurt, Mac. This idiot. . ." and as the man handed the child over and turned to see just who had caused this mishap, Annabeth, while noting that the girl had immediately calmed down in the arms of her mother—at least that's who Annabeth assumed she was—was startled to realize she knew these people – it was Captain Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie; and Vic's posture, which had been rather comedic to begin with—she had been tempted to giggle, changed into something even funnier—he had snapped to attention, at least as much as it was possible while sitting on wet, cold sand.

"Lieutenant!" and then Annabeth discovered she became the object of the scrutiny of those unusual blue-green eyes – exactly the same eyes as her boss, she was reminded. Starting to move so she could get up—she discovered the Captain had put out his hand in an offer to help her. She gratefully accepted.

"Annabeth, Vic, guess we all had the same idea this afternoon."

She stood up, brushing the sand off her shorts and blushed just a bit. She tried to apologize. "Captain, I'm so sorry – I'm afraid this was my fault. . ."

He stood straight up after she let go of his hand and she began to fidget under his gaze. Then he turned his attention to Vic, who was still sitting "at attention" on the ground. She followed his gaze and she couldn't help it—she giggled. Mac also started to laugh. Annabeth could have sworn she saw the Captain's mouth twitch as if trying not to laugh himself. Instead he put down his hand to help the younger man up. "Relax, Lieutenant. We're not in uniform and. . ."

Vic accepted Harm's help and pulled himself up in a hurried fashion. "I'm sorry, sir. I wasn't watching. . ."

That was too much for Annabeth's innate sense of honesty. "No, Vic." She turned to the taller man. "I'm sorry—it really was my fault. I wasn't watching where I was going and I just flat out ran into Vic." Then her attention turned to the child. "Is she alright?"

Mac was cuddling her daughter and murmuring to her, rocking her. She nodded. "Mahara isn't hurt—she's fine. She was more startled than anything." Her mouth curled up into a very nice and warm smile. "If we don't hold her or hold onto her, she'd be in the ocean in a flash!"

"Her name's unusual – a family name?"

"Mackenzie O'Hara Rabb. Mac's Uncle Matt O'Hara was responsible for us meeting," Harm explained and Annabeth could see his and Mac's eyes meeting in remembrance of …something …maybe a private joke?

Annabeth leaned forward. "May I?" she asked, not quite touching the emerald green hoodie wrapped around the little girl. Mac nodded—and then pulled the hood back, holding it to shield the child's face from the sun, and Annabeth leaned in for a closer look. "Oh-h-h-h-h, she's beautiful!! I have one at home—Hailey will be two in a few weeks." A sharp pang of homesickness shot through her and she felt a teardrop forming. "I miss her—and I've only been gone a few days!"

Mac studied her for a bit and then asked, "Would you like to hold her?" Carefully, the two women made the exchange and Annabeth's face lit up with a smile. "Oh-h-h-h, aren't you a pretty one!" Just then, Mahara opened her eyes and Annabeth's breath stopped. She glanced at Harm and then down at the pretty little girl, now studying her carefully with those fabulous eyes. "She's got your eyes, Captain!" She cuddled the baby up close. "Such beautiful eyes! Uhhh…just like Jimmy's, too…" Mahara started fussing "go – go" and Annabeth reluctantly handed her back to her mother.

"How old is she?"

The Captain cleared his throat. "Just over a year. Is the lieutenant here being a good host, Annabeth?"

"Oh, yes." She turned to the ocean. "I've never seen the ocean before this week—it's just beautiful. I've never seen so much water. . ."

The Captain and his wife exchanged amused glances—and it seemed to Annabeth there was a complete conversation taking place and she wasn't hearing a word. A pang of what she now knew as grief shot through her—this was similar to what she and Jack had shared—a once-in-a-lifetime love. They'd always been able to talk without words.

"My guess is you've never experienced southern California hospitality, either, then, Annabeth." Mac said, tucking the jacket back in as the wind picked up. "Why don't you and the lieutenant join us for a cookout at our place tomorrow evening, say around 1800? You said you're staying until Wednesday?"

Annabeth was confused until Vic whispered, "That's 6:00 p.m." Her face cleared itself of confusion and she smiled. "I'd love to. I couldn't get a flight at the government rate for tomorrow. " She glanced in a shy way towards Vic, who nodded in agreement.

Annabeth leaned forward to touch the tiny, delicate soft hand that was waving at her. "I would love to get to know this little one better, too."

The Captain nodded his head. "Then it's settled. We'll see you around 1800, then, Lieutenant."

"Yes sir" came the prompt and enthusiastic answer.

"You have our address, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Watching Harm and Mac continue up the beach Annabeth noticed the Captain's arm going around his wife's waist and his head bent over as if to make sure their daughter was truly okay. She turned to Vic.

"Well, that was certainly unexpected."

He was rubbing his rear. There was a rueful tone to his voice. "Yeah, it was." He grimaced. "It's not a smart idea to literally bump into your present and former commanding officers like that, generally."

She studied him carefully. "I'm not so sure you're okay—let's go catch a drink or something and sit for a few minutes." She grabbed his elbow and they started to make their way inland, up the beach towards the concession stand.

"Would you mind if we went back to Ferry Landing? Or anyplace, if you know somewhere closer – I have to get a t-shirt or something for Hailey, and maybe some salt water taffy for the office."

"Sure." Vic tried to sneak a look at her hand – he didn't remember seeing a ring – maybe she was divorced. "Umm... don't you want a shirt for your husband, too?" He couldn't believe a woman this nice would be divorced.

"No…no shirt…he's …he's dead." Annabeth stared out at the ocean. "We always talked about taking Hailey to Disneyland, someday, when she's older. Then ….then there weren't any more 'somedays' left."

Vic wisely decided against any platitudes and tried for a lighter note. "My XO – that's the second in command – he has a picture in his office – the Captain and his daughter. CDR Roberts' her godfather, that's why he has the picture – anyway, they're both wearing mouse ears. Mickey and Minnie are on either side of them, hugging them. You'll have to come back and go there someday."

"Yeah." Annabeth straightened. Softly, "someday."

End Chapter Eleven


	13. Chapter 12

Doppelgänger Chapter Twelve

Trish and Frank Burnett's home and guest cottage

La Jolla, CA

Tuesday, 12 June 2007/1800 – 6 pm

Annabeth was stunned, almost to the point of speechlessness, at the sight of the impressive home overlooking the Pacific Ocean, perched high above the beach. "Are they rich?" she finally gasped. "The Captain and the Colonel?"

"No," Vic hastened to explain. "This is CAPT Rabb's folks' home. He and Colonel MacKenzie live in their guest house, back behind the pool."

"_Guest house. Pool_," Annabeth echoed faintly. As an Assistant District Attorney in Marion County, Indiana, she earned a reasonable salary, sufficient for her needs and to take care of Hailey, but a house like this was beyond any imaginings.

"Is the inside as gorgeous as the outside? Have you been here before, then?"

"I guess," Vic shrugged. "I was only here for an open house Christmas Eve – they had the whole command, and all the NCIS investigators too. Then I was back the day after Christmas for a strategy session for an investigation ….I didn't really look around all that much."

Annabeth noticed the long ramp curving from the side of the driveway to the front of the house. Before she could ask about it – if someone was in a wheelchair – the front door opened and Mac appeared, waving at them to come in.

"The house is just gorgeous," she couldn't help commenting, as they walked through a spacious foyer into a greatroom, crossing to double French doors leading to a deck and pool. She glimpsed a Jacuzzi spa on the far side of the pool, and what appeared to be a small house to the side, partly hidden by a row of palm trees and a huge bougainvillea.

"It is." Mac was quick to praise Trish Burnett's vision. "My mother-in-law owns an art gallery. She did all the decorating and design work. We love living here so much, we've put off getting our own place."

Mac snagged Mahara as the toddler went racing by her, handing her to Harm who was in hot pursuit of the child.

"Come on, baby, let's go see how Bud's doing with the grill. Annabeth? Vic? Something to drink? Beer? Soda?"

Annabeth looked around. There was an outdoor kitchen with a built-in gas grill that another man was hovering over, keeping close eye on the steaks, hamburgers—and was that a fish??—cooking there. Mac leaned over to Annabeth, grinning. "The men cook tonight– the kids'll clean up – we can relax! Have you met my XO? Let me introduce you….Bud Roberts, and his wife, Harriet Sims. Their children are inside, playing."

Harm was gently teasing his daughter and gave no indication he had heard the remark until Annabeth heard him speak up. "Okay, Mac, then you've got bath and potty duty."

The blonde woman arranging woven placemats and colorful, beach themed dishes and silver on two teakwood tables with huge bright umbrellas piped up. "Mac, it must be nice to have a cook and bottle washers on the premises. And the cook doubles as a 'handyman' too, I've heard!" The man at the grill - Bud – Annabeth recalled, groaned.

"Give it a rest, Harriet!"

Harriet's grin only got wider. Mac tilted her head. "Now, there's a story we haven't heard. Give it up, Bud!"

Vic, Bud and Annabeth accepted beers from Harm, who had fetched them from a small refrigerator built into the tiled wall next to the grill. "Oh, Harriet's been giving me a bad time about a project I started years ago—and it's still not finished." He leaned over to the older man. "I started building a 'lawyer's bookcase'—you know, the kind with glass doors. Got stuck on the doors." He shrugged, waving his spatula in the air.

Harm turned towards an older girl emerging from the house, expertly propelling herself in a wheelchair. Introducing her, "my older daughter, Mattie Grace. Here. Would you keep an eye on this little imp? She's been racing through the house just getting in the way."

Mattie turned her attention from the grill. "Bud, I think Harm's fish is beginning to look more than just a little black!—and aren't the hamburgers done yet?? I'm h-u-n-g-r-y."

Bud sharply turned his attention back to the grill and started turning over the salmon. Harm continued. "If you need help with the bookcase, Bud, just give me a call."

Bud was totally focused on the food. "Thanks. Ya wanna hand me a plate? I think your fish is ready, Captain—" he poked at the hamburgers. "Mattie's right about the burgers, they're done, too."

Mattie took Mahara in her lap where the child's attention was caught by the necklace Mattie was wearing and reached for it. Mattie gently scolded the child. "No, no, no. You can't have that." She settled the child in her lap more firmly. "Let's go see if we can find the boys and Chloe and Nikki—I'm sure they'll be ready to eat too.

Mac turned to Annabeth and Vic. "That's our cue. Let's bring the rest of the food out and we can eat." They followed on her heels into the guest house's kitchen and she started fishing bowls out of the refrigerator.

The adults were settled on the pool deck. Mattie was "supervising" the younger children—Annabeth counted five of them—in a game that was a cross between "Twister" and "tag," so far as she could tell. The side yard area was small—there wasn't much room for the children to play. Another older girl – Chloe – had filled her plate and excused herself. "Last exam's tomorrow at 8 – graduation's Saturday!" Harm was sprawled in a lounger, holding Mac's hand that dangled from her own lounger. "It's too bad we hadn't planned to take the kids to the park instead of them being cooped up here in this tiny yard."

Annabeth was in her own lounger. She looked around. "Well, this is still awfully "nice." There was a gentle, cooling breeze, and she took a deep breath. "I'd rather have the pool than a big yard! You know, in Indianapolis, we hear about how polluted the big cities are, yet you'd never know about the pollution problem here."

Mac raised her eyebrows. "That's because it's a good day." A thought struck her, "It's been good weather ever since you've been here. Have you had a good time?"

"Oh yeah. I think I've fallen in love with the beach!" She turned to Harm. "I want to thank you, Captain, for arranging this trip."

Harm shrugged. "My pleasure. And please, call me Harm." He straightened up. "It's the least I could do after putting on that 'show' in Indianapolis."

"And just who do you think gets the credit for the idea?" Annabeth's head whirled. Mac's grin was wide and there was a sparkle in her eyes.

Harm slouched down again and shrugged his shoulder. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe it was my idea in the first place."

Mac only humped and then glared at her husband. "Okay, okay!!" He turned to Annabeth. "Actually, Mac was the one who suggested inviting your boss to observe Morrison's court martial."

Mac's glare softened, but Annabeth still had the feeling she was looking for something else. Harm shifted uncomfortably. The apologetic look he tossed Annabeth was endearing and Annabeth forever would remember the Captain this way, not the rather intimidating and forbidding figure who had first shown up on Jimmy's doorstep. "The offer was kind of an apology for going all 'macho' in your office."

Annabeth was astounded. Then she chuckled. "You should have seen Jimmy when you first popped up on the scene."

Bud inserted himself into the conversation for the first time. "I understand there's a striking resemblance between Harm and Mr. Conlon."

She stared straight at thegroup. "Mo and I both had the thought they were related—they looked like adult identical twins!"

Harriet made her first contribution to the conversation. "Oh-h-h, that must have been fun!" And Bud piped in, "Especially since the colonel is the spittin' image of Captain Rabb's friend from the Naval Academy."

Annabeth sat there dumbfounded—as did Vic, who remembered how she's remarked on Mac's resemblance to a police officer in Indianapolis. Mac laughed, having firmly determined to not let the ghosts of either the past or present bother her.

"Jimmy would've liked to have come – who wouldn't – but running off to the beach in the middle of the campaign isn't the thing to do." Annabeth was just making conversation, assuming Harm at least knew what Jimmy was up to.

"Campaign?" Mac questioned, "is he up for reelection? I hadn't realized his was an elective office." Despite herself, she was curious about the man who was apparently Harm's 'double.'

"It's not," Annabeth hastened to explain. "He's running for State Attorney General."

"Hey," Harm joined the conversation, "not my thing …but if he wins, maybe I'll be "recognized" and get the royal treatment in airports or somewhere!"

Just then, Mahara toddled up to her mother. "Mommy!" Mattie was wheeling herself hot on her heels. Mac reached down, disentangling her hand from Harm's and picked her up. "What's the matter, sweetie?" Mahara stuck her thumb in her mouth and cuddled up.

"I think her batteries are low," Mattie's voice was full of amusement. She nodded towards the other children who were tangled up on the Twister mat. "I think the boys and Nikki overwhelmed her."

"Well, I wouldn't be surprised. She did "Tumblin' for Tots" at day care this afternoon." Her hand was caressing the baby-fine dark hair, and Annabeth's heart "melted" as she observed the youngster settling down. She could see the eyelids droop. She leaned forward.

"I think your little one is out for the count." Her voice was soft, her smile gentle, and Harm noted the glance Vic tossed her way.

"Mac, you want me to take her to her room?"

Mac shook her head. "Nah, she'll be fine here." She dropped a kiss on the soft hair. "I don't think a bomb would wake her up." Harm settled back in his chair

Mattie excused herself. "Mahara's not the only one who's been overwhelmed. I think I'm headin' in too – my exams are done but I'm going with Chloe tomorrow. I'll swim while she slaves over her last exam. See you tomorrow morning, Harm, Mac." She turned to Annabeth and Vic. "It was nice meeting you. I'm glad San Diego decided to put on good weather for your introduction to the city. No 'June gloom' the last few days," She wheeled herself inside the big house and disappeared.

Annabeth couldn't help herself. "Mattie – and the other young lady – Chloe? Are they yours? They don't look like either one of you – and they're much older than Mahara." She faltered, "I'm so sorry – that was so rude of me – it's none of my business."

"Harm became Mattie's guardian when her biological father couldn't provide for her. Later, after an accident, we got custody. Chloe's my little sister – well, not really – just say they're our "family of the heart," along with Bud and Harriet and their kids—our godchildren."

"Really!"

There was another one of those poignant silent "conversations" between the couple—and it's intensity was starting to generate some embarrassment among their guests. It was Bud who cleared his throat. "I don't think you ever told anybody about how you met Mattie in the first place, Captain," Bud continued the conversation.

Annabeth saw both Harm and Mac mentally shake themselves and he shifted in his seat. "Do you remember seeing the C-130 land on the deck of the Seahawk, Bud?"

Annabeth went through her memory files and remembered watched ZNN's news coverage of that event. It had been awesome—even on a television screen, the huge military cargo plane had made the fighter jets normally landing on the deck look small. Bud and Harriet only nodded their heads. "After that, the CIA let me go." It seemed to Annabeth that his face had gained a stone mask. "Just for the hell of it, I went out to Blacksburg to check on 'Sarah.'" He shook his head. "Not sure why—here I was unemployed once again—really shouldn't have spent the money, but I really, really needed to get out there." Annabeth thought she perceived some deep, hidden pain somewhere in the tone of voice. Apparently she's wasn't the only one—Mac reached over and touched his hand. She saw the wry grin he tossed her way. "Thanks, Mac." He looked lost in thought again, and then added with the shrug. "When I arrived, there was this 14-year-old girl, instead of Pops, hanging around 'Sarah' and we started talking." Another shrug. "End of story.

"Oh – " to Annabeth and Vic, "'Sarah's' my biplane – a Stearman named for my grandmother."

"Not quite, Harm." Harriet chimed in. She turned to Annabeth—and Vic, too, who had pulled up a lawn chair and was sitting beside her—he appeared to her to be as intensely interested as she was. "Mac then went to court at the first custody hearing—Mattie's biological father showed up to contest the guardianship—and testified on Harm's behalf—and, when the ruling went against both Harm and Mattie's father, she spoke to Mr. Johnson on her own…it was Christmas Eve, 2003.." She grinned at both of them. "Best Christmas present for all of you."

Harm's face brightened, putting the memories back in their box "That's sure true."

It was Bud who questioned, "So, do you think it was 'fate' that initially partnered you with the Colonel in the first place, her being Diane's 'twin' and all?"

This time both Harm and Mac looked at Bud, rolled their eyes heavenward, and grinned at Bud—and spoke in unison: "Only you, Bud, only you." Among the "insiders" of what Annabeth perceived as a very close-knit group, there were some quiet chuckles. She had no way of remembering the much-younger Bud Roberts and his fascination with the idea of the paranormal.

Harriet got a serious, almost thoughtful look on her face. "And now you find yourself with a real-life 'twin' yourself. And, Mac's got someone in Indianapolis too – like a sister or a cousin, she told me Annabeth said. Do you think there's a message there someway, somehow?"

Harm snorted. "Are you kidding?" He turned his head to look at Harriet. "And I always thought you were the 'practical' one." He sat up straighter. "I'm a lawyer—I believe in facts!"

Harriet persisted. "Well, there's no doubting the bond you and Mac share." She raised her eyebrows in exasperation! "After Mac found you in the ocean that time. . ."

Annabeth's head was reeling. Her own voice was soft. "You guys must have quite a history."

It was Mac who spoke next. "I don't know if it was 'fate' or just what, Harriet. I'm still somewhat skeptical of the paranormal," and Vic and Annabeth both saw the look of gentle bewilderment blended in an odd sort of way with amusement, "It's hard to argue 'Fate' put Harm and I together—with the assistance of …uh-h-h…someone from 'another government agency'."

"Another government agency?" Annabeth was confused. This was foreign territory to her.

It was hard to miss Harm's snort of indignation. "Yeah, the CIA, or as they sometimes like to be called, 'Deputy Undersecretary at State.'"

"It was a very long time ago." Mac's voice had gone flat and she spoke with finality.

"So, Captain, you never did answer the question." Vic snickered. The hard-nosed prosecutor was coming to the forefront. "Do you believe in fate? And do you think 'fate' will bring you and Jimmy Conlon together again??"

Harm sat there silently, after reaching over to grab hold of Mac's hand again. Finally, he said, "I don't know. What I do know," and he was staring at Mac intently, "is that Fate brought Mac and I together—and it was Mac's uncanny likeness to Diane that made me pay attention in the first place." He shook his head in a rueful manner. "But she is nothing like Diane. . ." his voice faded.

Mac spoke up and directly to Annabeth. "I have no idea as to the future, nor do I think it's necessarily a 'portent' of 'things to come' that Harm discovered a living, breathing 'twin' in Indianapolis." She shrugged. "There is the expression 'out there' that goes something like 'everybody's got a 'twin' somewhere on this planet.'" She shrugged. "It's just a lucky toss of the dice that Harm has met his. And, since Annabeth said the police officer just looks sort of like me – not really a twin – I'm shrugging it all off as coincidence."

Another glance at her husband—and she caught his eyes. Even Vic got the message there would be more discussion of this particular topic on the marital agenda in the future.

In the meantime, A.J. and his sister Nikki came up to their parents and complained about some incident that had occurred on the Twister board. Harriet reached for her now two and a half year-old daughter and glanced at her own husband to send a signal. She addressed Mac. "This has been fun, but I think the kids have had enough. Do you need help cleaning up?"

Mac shook her head and moved to get up out of her chair, rearranging her sleeping child to transport her to her own bed. "No." She glanced around. "No problem. Mattie and Chloe welshed out, but Harm and I'll do it. You go ahead now."

Bud and Harriet rounded up their children and Harm walked the family to the door, as Mac bade goodbye to Annabeth and indicated "see you tomorrow" to Vic.

Annabeth stepped forward. She flashed Harm a shy smile as she shook hands with Mac, who had come back through the main house. "I had a very good time, Harm, Mac. Thanks for inviting me." Vic, too, exchanged his goodnights with the couple and they made their way to his car.

"I have a feeling there's going to be a lot of discussion at some point about the subject of 'twins,'" was Vic's opening comment.

Annabeth snapped on her seatbelt and settled in for the trip back to her hotel. "No doubt." There was a pause. "Was it me, or were two of Harriet and Bud's kids twins themselves?"

"Yeah. The youngest two." He backed out of the driveway. "It's my understanding that's why Harriet left active duty – but I heard she's starting law school at Cal Western in September."

"That's a lot of 'twins' who aren't related – the Captain and your boss; his dead friend – Diane? - and his wife; the Colonel and your police friend ….

Annabeth gave a slight shiver. "All this talk of twins—it's just a bit much." She shook it off. The conversation on the way back to her hotel turned to other matters.

D.A.'s Office

Indianapolis

Thursday, June 14, 2007

He watched Annabeth carefully, as she related to her supervisors—both Mo and himself—what had occurred in San Diego. There was a definite change to her—she seemed—happier?—than she had been. Her blue eyes sparkled and her face crinkled up either in a grin and/or smile faster, easier than it had in the past. He watched her carefully, mentally noting the differences, as she used hand gestures to emphasize certain points as the story of the court martial in San Diego unfolded. Finally she was finished. He jerked himself forward and dismissed Mo. "Annabeth, stay behind, would you please?"

Mo got up from her seat, tossed a glance at Annabeth that Jimmy was hard put to interpret, and left his office. "See you later," was her only comment. He leaned forward, picking up a pen to toy with it while he gave careful thought to what he wanted to ask her.

"You seem—" and he cast about for the right word and came up with, "refreshed." He leaned back again. "That little trip did you a world of good, it seems."

She smiled that half-smile which had seemed so sad before—and Jimmy discovered that perhaps it was his perception/projection at work there. "I fell in love—with San Diego – with the beach," she hastened to add as she saw an eyebrow jerk upward. "I don't know—maybe it was the ocean, the palm trees, even the weather."

"So you had a good time, did you?"

She had the grace to blush. "Yes, sir." He leaned back in his chair.

"Obviously, the court martial didn't last as long as we'd thought it would." There was an unasked question lurking behind that comment, and she knew it.

"Actually, the attorneys worked it out. Morrison changed his mind Sunday night and decided he wanted to plead." Her own face got thoughtful and reflective. "My observation is that the negotiating of plea bargains isn't that different than in the civilian system."

"And the quality of the attorneys?" He was genuinely curious. Meeting the few military people he had during this case had run up against some deeply ingrained biases he had held and had thoroughly abused those biases. Annabeth shook her head.

"I found the attorneys to be equal to ours—on both sides."

"Hm-m-m-m." He would have to think about that. Deeply ingrained biases, he was discovering anew, would not be dislodged quite that easily. "And –socially? How did things go there?"

She blushed again. As in any office in this land, people were curious as to others' personal lives—although they all tried to refrain too much. But it was part of being human and he was genuinely curious as to what Annabeth thought. He felt an honest affection for her—much as he would for a "little sister"—and tried to let her know in ways both subtle and otherwise he appreciated her moral support when he was down. The latest incident in which his close personal friend had been killed—and a deep dark secret inadvertently revealed—was only the latest example of the kind of support he had received from her. Somewhere in his mind was a little voice saying it was only "right" to return the favor.

"Captain Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie – Harm and Mac – had me over"—and this time her face really lit up—"and they have the cutest little girl—about a year younger than Hailey. Mahara is somethin' else!" She grinned in memory of the active little one who was keeping her parents 'hoppin.' "There are two older girls – I guess 17 or 18 – they graduate this weekend. No one said anything about it, but one was using a wheelchair. I don't think it was just a broken leg or something like that. There was a ramp from the driveway to the front door that looked permanent. Makes me realize my troubles are small." Then he saw a spark of mischievous merriment come into her eyes and instantly his guard went up. "Did you know Mac had a twin look-alike, too?"

This case was all too weird! His jaw dropped. "You're kiddin!"

She shook her head. "Nope. She – someone named Diane – was apparently Harm's friend at the Naval Academy." Then she frowned. "I think maybe it was an issue at one time between the two of them. Oh, and Mac also looks enough like Dani McKinnen to be her sister or maybe her cousin – not really a 'twin'." "

Jimmy sat up in his chair, his mind whirling over the events of the past few months. That would explain a lot of Captain Rabb's own behavior—especially given his own personal response to discovering he had a look-alike "twin" out there. "Is the 'twin' thing a current issue now?" He was really, really curious.

She shook her head. "I got the impression it was in the past. Although Mac wasn't entirely comfortable still with the idea. It sounded like her look-alike has been dead for a long time, now."

He leaned back in his chair again and this time his eyes wandered and caught on a point above and beyond Annabeth. He was reaching his own conclusions. Then he shook himself and leaned forward as if to get back to work. "I'm glad you had a good time." He brought his eyes back to her face. "Think you can get back into the swing of things here?"

Her smile was brilliant, radiant as a matter of fact. "Yes. I had a good time but it's good to be back." She paused. "I loved San Diego—at least what I saw of it—especially the beach -- but Indianapolis is 'home'—I wouldn't want to live out there."

He waved his hand in dismissal. His active mind had already catalogued this case, as strange as it turned out to be, in his memory banks and he was ready and willing and able to move onto the next project. "Get out of here—back to work!"

She stood up, smiled once more at him, smoothing her skirt as she did so. "Yes sir!" and walked out the door. He reached for the first paper on the top of the stack on his desk. It was a detailed analysis of crime statistics. He bent over and started pursuing the analysis, already wondering if there was something his office could do—legislation to propose—to bring these stats down. Another "routine" work day had started.

End Chapter Twelve. Epilogue to follow.


	14. Epilogue

Once again, grateful appreciation to the friends who've given so generously of their time and expertise to assist with certain details: Mkim and doc, Colie and Mimi, and annamae. Also, thanks, all of you you've made comments or sent personal emails.

Doppelgänger -- Epilogue

The Canterbury Hotel

Indianapolis

December 12, 2009

Standing to the side of the beautifully decorated-for-the-holidays lobby waiting for Mac and Mahara, Harm absently admired the festive decorations and reflected on the past few years.

Funny, he'd just had his 46th birthday, but he felt younger, not older! Some of his high school and Academy classmates were already grandmothers and grandfathers ….then there was Keeter – still the perennial bachelor (!) ….and then there was him, proud parent of Mattie and Chloe – juniors in college; and Mahara – all of 3 ½! Nothing like carrying 50 pounds on your shoulders or racing alongside a bicycle with training wheels to keep you fit! He and Mac still ran five miles at least three days a week, ten once or twice a week.

Harm and Mac had debated whether to come to this wedding where they wouldn't know more than a couple of people during the hectic month between Thanksgiving and Christmas, but had decided to come. They were curious – what would it be like – meeting a "twin" again? The decision to bring Mahara had been harder – Mattie and Chloe had been invited too, but had first quarter final exams beginning next week. This was Trish's busy season at the gallery, and she was nearly 70; Frank was 82 but still worked part time as a consultant and was leaving Monday for three days of meetings in Tokyo – not the best time to ask and of them to take care of their adored granddaughter or little sister, even though they'd all offered. It would have been nice to get away alone, especially to this charming hotel, but he and Mac were taking a week around the Martin Luther King's birthday holiday and going to the Galápogos – a once-in-a-lifetime trip to see the giant tortoises, birds and other species they'd only seen in pictures. They were both so excited about the spectacular trip on the small luxury cruise ship that they'd planned for nearly a year. They'd managed to take advantage of the hotel's sitter service after arriving last night, and had dinner at the famed St. Elmo's, then walked to the new Harry & Izzy's for dessert and coffee.

Harm's attention focused as a voice thankfully not at all like his hailed him:

"Harmon Rabb. 'Long time no see.'" The two men shook hands as men do, each frankly studying the other. It hadn't been a mistake – a figment of the press's imagination that got carried away. Same height. Same build. Same blue-green eyes- exactly the same, staring at each other's identical face. Jimmy's hair still a tad longer, a trifle darker. Anyone looking quickly would see what others had seen 2 ½ years ago ….identical "twins." It didn't help that they were each in a dark tuxedo, only their ties a different color – Harm's a dark burgundy to nearly match Mac's dress; Jimmy's a midnight blue.

"I asked my folks," Jimmy spoke first – the words bursting out nervously. "My mother insisted that she'd never given up a kid for adoption and that I look like her brothers and their father – I'm an only child – they all died years ago. My father just laughed his head off."

"My mom and dad – stepdad - saw us on TV and in the newspaper pictures but just shrugged it off too. I think they figured it was just a general resemblance," Harm admitted. "Anyway, congratulations again! Oh, and also - before you ask again – nope, – this Sailor's a salt water guy – not interested in the "3rd coast," no matter how wide the Mississippi!"

Both men laughed. Shortly after Jimmy was elected Indiana's Attorney General in November 2007, he'd called Harm to offer him a job as head of the Special Investigations Unit; when Harm said "no thanks," he'd offered head of his choice of any of the litigation units – civil, criminal, or appellate. When Harm had again said "thanks but no thanks" Jimmy upped the ante - he'd offered Harm and Mac a "package deal" – they could each have their choice, recognizing from Annabeth's feedback that this was a " team" couple in every way! He still called a couple of times a year.

"How's the family?" Jimmy wouldn't admit it, but he'd followed Harm and Mac's careers with interest after meeting Harm and realizing that in many ways they were "kindred spirits," both wanting the same results – the result that served justice. And of course, Annabeth had returned from her trip to observe Petty Officer Morrison's trial raving about both Harm and Mac. He'd really been looking forward to seeing Harm again, and meeting Mac, who he'd spoken to a few times on the phone.

"Doing great!" Harm beamed, his broad grin lighting the lobby, even as his hand automatically started to fish for his wallet with its sheaf of photos – the proud husband and father multiplied by four. Chuckling, he took his hand out of his back pocket – empty …"Mac and Mahara'll be here in a moment - bathroom break after the ceremony. We debated bringing her - I know she's a bit young for a big "do" like this."

"I don't think it's a problem. There're other kids here too," Jimmy shrugged. "Hailey's just a year or so older, right?"

"Uh-h-h…yes, though you'd never know it." Harm laughed ruefully. "She's 3 ½ but she's as tall as a typical 7 or 8 year old; she's starting first grade in January. We've put it off as long as we can – the preschool staff's insistent that there's nothing more they can teach her, she's off the charts on the tests just like she's off the charts on height and weight….we finally gave in - the clincher was when we found her doing her best friend's homework for him and explaining it to him – he's 10 ½! Jimmy, she's so smart it's scary; she looks like an older kid, she talks like an older kid – I keep having her remind myself – she's only 3 ½ years old, she's still my little girl!"

"Dadddeee!" The dulcet tones of his youngest daughter intruded into their conversation, as a pint-sized vision in dark green velvet and lace pranced into view.

"Mahara – where's your --? – Harm's question was cut off as the child stood between the two men, looking uncertainly from one to the other.

"Daddy???" The little girl's voice trembled a bit and both men gasped – realizing that she actually wasn't sure which one of them was her father!

"Honey, don't be scared - this is Mr. Conlon – we've told you about him – I know we look like each other, just like AJ and Jimmy look very much like each other, because they're brothers, and Nikki and Mickey, because they're twins. Mr. Conlon and I aren't brothers, we just look a lot alike ….look," Harm bent down to the child's level – still a long ways, tall as she was for her age – "we don't sound at all like each other when we talk, and my tie's red, like Mom's dress, remember."

'Kay," the little girl's voice brightened. "You're Daddy!" She looked carefully at the other man, studying his face and his clothes as he looked a bit uncertainly at her. Finally, she smiled widely.

"I'm Mara O'Hara." Amazed at the self-assured voice and manner, Jimmy bent to grasp the small hand held out to him. "I'm Jimmy Conlon. I'm so glad to finally meet your father's daughter."

"Mahara, where's your Mom?"

"Talking to Ms. Annabeth …look, look, there's Hailey …she looks bee-you-ti-ful. Can I go, Daddy?"

"Sure, but remember what we talked about – no running or yelling – there're lots of grown-ups here." Harm smiled indulgently as the two men watched the child dash across the lobby to grab and hug young Hailey Chase. The two little girls – the one blond and the other brunette -- whirled about, obviously admiring each other's dresses.

"I see what you mean," Jimmy chuckled. "Hailey's 4 1/2 and no midget, but your daughter's so much taller. Is your wife very tall too?"

"Mac's five-nine, so I guess we shouldn't be surprised if Mahara ends up six feet or more – I assume it's in the genes! It's the towering intellect that really frightens me, though," Harm confided.

"Harm? Did Mahara find you? I told her she could find you and then Hailey." The two men turned as Mac came into view. As always, Harm's eyes gleamed with that combination of lust and love that was uniquely his. In a crowd of glittering beauties, all dressed to-the-nines, his wife stood out – and not just because of her height. Curls falling softly around her lovely face, her deep burgundy gown – his favorite color on her – shimmered against her tanned skin; high heeled sandals emphasized her long slender legs, and rubies sparkled at her ears and throat. Heads turned admiringly as the crowd flowed into the room where the wedding reception would be held. In her 20's, before he'd met her, Mac had surely been pretty; in her 30's, she'd been beautiful -- at 44, she was magnificent.

"Mac" – leaning forward, Harm brushed her lips lightly, knowing she had fussed over her hair and makeup for the occasion, "you missed it – Mahara wasn't sure who her daddy was for a moment." He could laugh now, but for a moment ….she saw the flash of – what? – not pain exactly, but more bewilderment - as though he hadn't known who _he _was - "you've spoken to Jimmy on the phone, I know – meet Jimmy Conlon in the flesh. Look carefully – his tie's blue!"

Mac thought she'd prepared herself for this meeting. Even as she held out her hand, a smile firmly on her lips, she was nearly as disconcerted as Mahara had been. She too took stock of the handsome man staring back at her.

The real surprise though, was Jimmy's reaction.

Now, Jimmy had remembered that Annabeth had commented on Mac's resemblance to Dani McKinnen, but he'd also remembered that she'd said that it wasn't a "twin," a "double" – it was more like the resemblance between an older and younger sister or between cousins. While Jimmy _knew _that Dani was Chiara's "twin" - at least physically - he somehow just hadn't connected the dots. Now, seeing Mac, the faces blurred as he blinked – there was Chi – 24 years old – her face frozen in his distant memory - Dani – 39 in 2 weeks – it had taken a long time, but he no longer saw Chiara every time he saw or talked to her.

His face worked convulsively as he tried to speak and Harm reached out and grabbed his arm, worried about his sudden pallor – Jimmy almost swayed before he caught himself. Mac had told Harm what Annabeth had said about her and Dani – the police lieutenant whose team she sometimes worked with. Was there more of a resemblance than Annabeth had let on?

"Jimmy?" Mac was uncertain what to say. "Annabeth had told me I look a little like someone you all worked with but I didn't think she was saying it was really all that much of a resemblance – are you okay?"

Fighting to control his emotions, Jimmy managed –"no, it's not you and Dani, not really …there was someone else - a long time ago."

Now it was Harm and Mac's turn to stare at each other, at Jimmy, and at each other again. They were so in tune with each other – in a few weeks it'd be 13 years since they'd met and become partners, they'd been married for 4 ½ years now …. their ability to communicate silently – to have a whole conversation with their eyes or just a word or two -- was stronger than ever.

What was this all about? Neither believed in Bud's theories about "parallel universes."

Now it was Harm's turn to laugh nervously – very nervously. "I hope her name wasn't Diane?"

"No, …no …it was Chi – Chiara. We were friends in law school. Please …please excuse my bad manners. Mac, I've really been looking forward to meeting you." Jimmy tried hard to regain his equilibrium – this was a wedding celebration, after all!

"Somehow, somewhere" Harm's voice was low and contemplative, "I think we may have even more in common that we'd ever thought. Maybe we can talk later?"

"Yes. Thank you - I'd like that. I want you two to finally meet Dani – she got a call just as we got here from the ceremony. Crime never stops, not even for weddings!"

"We'd better collect our daughter and go in" – Harm nodded to the room set for the reception – "they'll eat without us and if I know my women, that will not be acceptable!"

"Hey! I ran at least five miles all through White River Park while you watched cartoons this morning." The banter came easily as it always did now. "It's a great place – maybe we can take Mahara to the Zoo before we head to the airport tomorrow. So, where's the food? I'm hungry!"

Jimmy chuckled, glad at the change of subject. "They won't start without me. But c'mon, let's go in. Dani'll find us."

------------------------------

"James – I'm sorry. …one of my informants was found dead. 'Mouse' may have roared once too often after having a few, or it might have just been a heart attack …life on the streets can do that to snitches." Dani McKinnen turned her attention to the couple preparing to sit at their table as Jimmy stood by chatting with Ed and Ray. "You must be …." she'd seen Jimmy and Harm at the press conference after the decision was made to ship Morrison back to the Navy, and Annabeth had mentioned her resemblance to Harm's wife, but seeing the two together was almost like looking into a mirror, as Jimmy put his arm around her and made the introductions.

Just as Harm and Jimmy had, the two women frankly stared at each other, each taking stock of the other. Annabeth had been right, not twins exactly, more cousins or sisters. Definitely more than a passing resemblance!

Finally, Dani McKinnen held out her hand, smiling impishly, "I don't have any sisters, just brothers, and no cousins. Want a kissin' cousin or a sister?"

"You're on." Mac's warm laugh had Harm relaxing. The two women chatted, finding common ground in their work and likes, as the tables filled.

"Mommy! Daddy! Can I sit with Hailey?" This time, Mahara was prepared – Hailey had told her that her mommy's friend looked like _her_ mommy. Staring straight at Dani, she cocked her head and stated firmly, "you're not my mommy, she's wearing a red dress and has curls like mine." At that, Harm choked slightly, and the child turned to him, her face falling slightly.

"I'm sorrrrreee, Daddy, I didn't mean to make us late, I just wanted curls too. Can I sit with Hailey? Ms. Annabeth said I can."

Mac shrugged, "if you're sure her mother said okay – people are supposed to sit where their names are today, and Hailey was the flower girl – I'm sure she has a place she's supposed to sit. Umm-m-m, I'll go with you to see."

"Oh wow, she is something … where can I get one like that?" Like everyone who met her, Dani was immediately taken with Harm and Mac's daughter.

"Her name is unusual? I noticed you called her 'Mahara' but she introduced herself to me as 'Mara O'Hara.'" Like most people who don't know each other very well, one or the other's children are always a safe topic.

"Ahhh"….Harm chuckled ruefully, "I told you, she's so smart it scares me – she knows my name is Rabb and Mac's name is Mackenzie. Her name is Mackenzie O'Hara Rabb – Matt O'Hara is Mac's uncle – we met on a case because of him. She insists she wants her own name – 'MacKenzie Rabb O'Hara' – Mara O'Hara."

"Bragging about our kid again, Sailor?" Mac was back, waving to Mahara and Hailey, now seated several tables away with a group of older children. Slipping into her seat, she picked up the story, "we've told her, she can call herself 'Mara' if she really wants, but she has to answer to what her teachers call her in school and to us if we forget and call her 'Mahara.' When she's 18, she can decide…that got us a lesson in making even half promises, believe me." Mac's chuckle was self-depreciating, remembering the "discussion" with the stubborn little girl. She shrugged, "whatever. What's in a name, and all that…though, we did put a lot of thought into her name when we named her."

Dani was still fascinated with the child. "If I ever have a little girl, she'll look like her!"

"You could do worse," Jimmy's tone was low and intimate, and Harm and Mac exchanged glances – another story here, here, their wordless conversation said. "What does she like to do?" Unlike Dani, he had a number of cousins.

"You won't believe it - the coincidence." Now it was Mac's turn. "Her godparents took her to see "Stars on Ice" last summer with their children. That was it- we heard nothing but "ice skating" for weeks on end 'til we agreed to let her take lessons. There's a large indoor rink at the mall nearest us. It's just so eerie, watching her and remembering that tape of the Olevenowskis' skating…" Mac's voice trailed off as she remembered the case that had brought Harm and Jimmy together. Dani sobered. That case had been a nightmare – it had haunted her and everyone who'd touched it for a long time.

"Is she good?" Dani had loved to skate as a kid.

"Her teacher says so." Harm shrugged. "She's so tall, they want to pair her with an older boy already – so she coaxed her friend – our godson - the 10 ½ year old -- into taking lessons too. We'll see what happens."

The four of them were silent for a moment, reflecting on the events that had set the stage for their meeting – the coincidences and …what? Fate?

"Whether in this universe or another …." Harm's laugh was just a trifle shaky, "whether we were fated to meet or not, we're glad we did and we're glad to be here."

"Hear, hear." Raising his glass in salute, Jimmy rose. "and, that's my cue."

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention…" Waving towards the middle able, he continued, "now, I know it's traditional for the best man to offer the first toast, but nothing's traditional about this wedding party. The bride has no bridesmaids or maid of honor and the groom has no best man and groomsmen – instead we have the 'best people!'"

As the guests roared with laughter, the wedding party rose. Her golden hair shimmering about her shoulders, Annabeth was alight with happiness, flanked by her "best people" – Ed and Ray. On her other side was her groom, flanked by his "best people," snowflake twins Chris and Becca. Gregory Vukovic was in his new home, having resigned his commission to take a job as an Assistant United States Attorney in Indianapolis. He would continue his Naval service as a Reservist.

The end.


End file.
